


Ignis

by kittensandcake



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensandcake/pseuds/kittensandcake
Summary: “A dangerous creature. The Coal would sear through whole forests just to maintain their life-fire. To burn and burn or risk their demise…” Armitage’s mother looks up at him, holding up a finger to catch his attention. His eyes flicker up in time with the candle, almost eerily so. “But one goddess believed this punishment to be unfair to those gifted with the power. There were ways–”“The Guardians.” Armitage’s interruption is breathless and excited.“Yes. The Guardians.”





	1. Ardeo

“There is nothing wrong with you.” She stands by the stove, spoon still stirring through the pot and making the soothing, soft scratching sounds that normally accompany the crackling of the fire and dinnertime. “And no reason for you to think that.”

Armitage looks up dejectedly from the table, his chin slung in his hand and head tipped to the side. “They don’t talk to me, Ma. Not even when they’re being mean. They just –”  
She turns her head to look at Armitage this time, a brow raised as her braid falls over her shoulder. Armitage pauses, but when she doesn’t start to say anything he continues. “They just…knock me over, push me, ignore me. I don’t know why.”

“If you don’t know why, then you can’t say the problem is with yourself,” she hums demurely, leaving the spoon in the pot and wiping both hands down her apron. It’s a little stained, a little worn around the edges, but like everything else in the home it’s well-made and unlikely to ever fall into disrepair. “In my experience, it’s most likely them.” She notices the look on Armitage’s face, how his lips turn down into a pout and his brow creases.

  
“But why do they do it? It’s always me, Ma, never anyone else. Eliot looks like the wrong end of a donkey and they’re still mean to me.” Armitage does have the sense to look guilty for a moment for saying that, even if it gets a wry smile from her.  
She sighs and steps over, brushing her fingers through his hair and setting it straight. “We haven’t been here long, and these places are usually very close-knit. Everyone is a little cautious, even with me.”

  
Armitage tips his head up to look at her, at the dark auburn hair falling out of her braid. It’s been up all day, so he’s not surprised that it was beginning to come apart. “Children are a lot more difficult than adults. Even if they’re very pig-headed.”

  
She gets a laugh from that, Armitage’s eyes creasing somewhat at the corners at the forbidden idea of an adult laughing at her elders. She smiles too, and kisses his forehead. “It won’t be like this forever. Now, would you add to the fire for me? The stew needs a little more heat.”

  
Armitage nods and slides off of the well-worn bench. There are a few logs still in the basket that he pushes into the embers, his fingers submerged in ashes. There’s a moment of concentration, and then a burst and a crackle of flames. Armitage sits back on his heels. “That enough?”

  
“Yes, thank you, darling,” she hums, her hand sliding down through his hair for just a moment with a thoughtful expression on her face.

  
The moment he’s settled into bed, scratchy blanket tugged up to his chin and a few strands of straw beginning to stick into his back, Armitage is waiting for a story. And there’s not debating what kind of story is going to be told; he always asks for the Elementals. His mother weaves tales almost as well as she weaves her hair in the morning, or plucks the strings of her spindle to make thread. So when Armitage lies back tonight, and his mother comes to sit beside him, his eyes light up as he opens his mouth. “Tell me about the Elementals.”

  
“Now…which story would you like?” she hums, feigning ignorance.

  
“The origins! The first Elementals!” Armitage grins as his mother smiles too, settling down herself as she brings a candle closer. Armitage doesn’t even need prompting, his fingers reaching out and pinching the wick, a spark of flame illuminating them both.

  
“A long, long time ago, before the cities, the kingdoms –before the land as we know it – magical creatures roamed the earth. Some had the power to conjure up typhoons, to change the course of mighty rivers. Some could shift mountains on a whim, carving valleys into the earth. Others whipped up great winds that flattened forests and turned the seas into roiling beasts. And some of these creatures, rare as they were, could summon fire itself.”

  
Armitage grins at this, lifting one hand and watching as little blue flames dance along his fingers. His mother watches, the flames reflected in her gaze.

  
“These creatures shaped the world. Their battles made ravines, great lakes; the great volcano was formed when an Ignis and a Terra fought for dominance of their region.” His mother reaches for the book off to the side of Armitage’s bedroll, opening its worn pages. She doesn’t need to show him, but she knows Armitage appreciates the book and the old illustrations, now faded from the brush of many fingers.

  
Armitage strokes over the same image again, the volcano that splits the south and the west, illustrated lava trickling from its fiery maw to the sea on one side and the mountains on the other. “Tell me about the Guardians,” he says, his eyes flicking up to his mother.

  
“I haven’t even told all of the beginning,” she protests, but there’s a smile in her eyes as Armitage huffs but relents anyway, leaning back with his head on the pillow, hair spread out behind him. At that she can’t help but drag her fingers through it, a smile on her face. “So handsome,” she hums, before leaning back and turning a page of the book.

  
“Despite their destructive nature, the Elementals lived in peace with nature. In the summer the ignis would burn through the world, destroying the older forests and yet bringing sunlight and energy to the land. The aqua would soothe that world in the cool autumn and winter, when the winds would bring deep snow and the earth would sleep until spring.” The pages show the cycle, the raging ignis only calmed by the cool waters of the aqua. Armitage follows them, his fingers lingering on the fiery ignis.

  
“But the gods saw all of this, and they were afraid.” His mother’s voice takes on a darker tone. “The elementals wielded terrifying power. The gods of nature saw this, and realised their mistake.” The next page, and there are the Elementals, still weak in power when compared to the gods, but in their numbers a threat. “They gave those with powers a choice: become mortal, or risk being forever consumed by their powers.”

  
Armitage’s expression grows pensive, the warmth in his face seeming to fade somewhat. His mother had expected this. She continues, watching him:

  
“Most chose a mortal life. It was the safest option; they had no need to control what they no longer had. And when they saw the fates of those who had chosen to stay attached to the elements, most believed they had chosen wisely.” This page looks the least worn, and Armitage’s fingers pull away from it. His mother’s smile has faded entirely by now, but she knows it will only be for a short part of the story. “The remaining aqua who could not control themselves became nymphs, seeming shells of their former selves that would drown a mortal just for the fun of it. Most would simply fade into their river. The Terra would become hills and rockfalls. The caeli would merely disappear into the very winds of the world.” Her voice slows. “The Ignis, being considered the most dangerous threat, received the worst fate. The Coal.”

  
There is a whole page devoted to the creature. Armitage stares at its dark, cracked body, looking so similar to the coals in the fire when they could afford them, with glinting eyes and fire pouring from its mouth.

  
“A dangerous creature. The Coal would sear through whole forests just to maintain their life-fire. To burn and burn or risk their demise…” Armitage’s mother looks up at him, holding up a finger to catch his attention. His eyes flicker up in time with the candle, almost eerily so. “But one goddess believed this punishment to be unfair to those gifted with the power. There were ways–”

  
“The Guardians.” Armitage’s interruption is breathless and excited.

  
“Yes. The Guardians.”

  
The page turns again, to the ritual arch, ancient and illuminated by the gold-leaf glow of hundreds of candles. “Spirits to protect their Ignis. A vessel to channel their powers and protect them from their fate. The gods hated Enera for this, casting her to the underworld to regulate those souls who would join her, or be returned to her ignis.” His mother shakes her head a little. “A cruel fate, but for her, the light of the ignis was all the warmth she required in her new domain.” She smiles and turns the page. “The Guardians are half of their Ignis. One soul, cleft in twain. Although they develop, and are ultimately their own beings, the bond between them is more powerful than anything in this realm.” She smiles again. “It is said that an ignis paired together with their Guardian is nigh-indestructible. A foe to be reckoned with, or a powerful ally.” She sighs before closing the book. “But this is simply an old legend. Most don’t believe it now,”

 

“I do.” Armitage says resolutely, folding his arms. “It happened. Why else would we have the volcano? Or the rivers in the north?”

  
His mother smiles and hums.“This is why I believe most of the adults in this town will have a problem with us. We believe, where they would rather live in ignorance or forget.” She lets out a light laugh and shrugs. “We will just have to pretend to be normal. For a while, anyway.” She brushes her fingers over Armitage’s hand. “Your gifts are only to be used in the home, and only when I am around. No-one else can know.”

  
There’s the same vaguely urgent tone in her voice that Armitage recognises from having heard a hundred times before. He nods.

  
“No-one else can know,”

  
“Sleep well, darling.”

  
With a kiss to his forehead, and a brief whiff of cinnamon, the book is placed back on the low table and the candle snuffs itself out.

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Armitage isn’t allowed to see the post that his mother brings home, the missives and messages that come wrapped up tight with wax seals on. She is more secretive now, less soft, snapping at Armitage if he singes her apron like he has done many times before, or reaches for the fire without her permission. He doesn’t understand, but as the seasons end and begin again he finds he cares less. At least she still feeds him and talks now and then. The rest of the children – now crossing the boundary between adult and child, with all the adolescent awkwardness that Armitage himself is experiencing – only seem to get worse. Armitage is ‘weird’ and ‘strange’ and still an ‘outsider’, apart from when he runs to the forest for solitude. Even his journeys into town with his mother for food are terse events, with merchants checking their coins for fakes and the baker giving them the smallest loaves. This isn’t any different than usual, but Armitage can tell it’s beginning to grate on his mother.

It continues for years. Armitage grows, out of his round face and childhood softness, into something taller and thinner than his mother. There her worry for him shows, with her passing him the larger portions at dinnertime; it doesn’t have much effect, but Armitage never goes hungry. They are not in poverty, the food on their table is easy to procure, but there’s an uncertainty to it all that Armitage knows has his mother on edge. He has to find more food in the forest; his mother grows what she can in the meagre garden. But aside from their hardships, it’s not a terrible life. They have their moments. The stories of the Elementals become background for Armitage, more of a curiosity than anything as real as he once believed, even with how he still occasionally lights the fire or the tallow candles around the house. It was only when he heard about Brendol Hux for the first time did things change.

  
Armitage knew who Brendol Hux was. The next in line, the Prince Regent, the one to succeed his father and become the second Hux on the throne, after Palpatine the First. In comparison to the self-titled Emperor, the first Hux was practically a gift from the gods. The second…few people trusted him. Not to mention his attitudes to the very Elementals most people didn’t even believe in anymore. It wasn’t as if those who carried the gift made it obvious. Only those who lived in the wilds and interacted little with mortals had such freedom. But Brendol Hux had very little patience for such creatures. The stories of public executions were few and far between, but those who told them had little doubt in their mind, or in their own vision.  
Armitage had found his source of his information in the tavern, amidst the smoke of pipes and the dark, fatty candles that provide just enough light to see glinting armour and hidden weapons, for those with sharp eyes. Eventually, Armitage pins down his source, a worn woman draped over her mug at the bar. She looks travel-weary, which is exactly what Armitage needs.

  
“It looked…like us,” the woman mutters, with Armitage’s gaze locked on her. He’s handed over a small coin-purse for this information, and he’s not going to let it go to waste on this woman’s ale without getting his answers. Even for a sellsword, she looks as though she’s seen far too much, and despite her pause Armitage’s eyes don’t falter. She sighs, and shakes her head.

 

“I don’t know why you want to know, son. It’s hardly somethi–”

 

“Tell me about it. What you saw. I’ve already heard from the crier; I want to hear from someone who was there.”

  
She pauses, and purses her lips before continuing: “Look…” She sighs and shakes her head. “Fine. Children shouldn’t be interested in such dark things, you know.” She takes a drink from her mug before turning her attention fully to Armitage, meeting his gaze. “It looked…like a human. Apart from the eyes. They were burning, so bright, like two pits of flame, as they brought her up to the stocks and she started to…burn. Her hair looked like a fire, lifting up as if she was a demon. Her skin went black; she howled and howled like an inferno.”

  
The woman’s eyes grow distant and she makes a face before taking a drink. “Until the headsman cut her head off. She continued burning for a while after that. Charred the stocks up pretty good, from what we saw. Apparently she did something against–”

  
“Armitage.” There’s a sharp hiss, and Armitage turns in abject surprise just as his mother grabs at his arm. Her eyes cut up to the sellsword with her own brand of fire in her eyes. “I told you not to come here.”

  
Armitage tries to protest, but she doesn’t hear anything of it as she glares at the woman, who looks deservedly sheepish. “You would sell stories and falsehoods to children just so you can drown yourself in ale?” She bares her teeth. “Pathetic.”

  
“I didn’t just tell him,” the sellsword mutters, turning her head. “He paid me.”

  
“Because taking gold from children is so much better than taking it for murder,” his mother hisses, and she storms out, dragging Armitage with her. Despite the size difference between them, Armitage knows when he can pull away and when pulling away would be much, much worse than accepting his fate.

  
He doesn’t say a word until they are away from people, down in the gap between two buildings where they can have their conversation in private. His mother stops and turns to him, her eyes glinting as she drops his arm.

  
“Do you not care? Do you not understand why we act like we do? Why you mustn’t ask these questions, or go to places like that?” She stares at him, and Armitage feels his first twinge of guilt.

  
“I wanted to know. You always tell me that we have to act like this, we can’t ask, we can’t…” Armitage wants to tear at his hair, and turns his back for a moment, feeling something twist and writhe and burn in him, his skin feeling hot all over. When he turns, his mother starts, which makes Armitage blink. She seems to lose some of her own anger, and lifts her hand to his cheek. It’s cold, and Armitage’s brow furrows in confusion.

  
“I know. I know you want to know.” She sighs softly and shakes her head. “But Armitage, please. It’s not safe. For you, for me…for the time being, we need to keep quiet. Need to be discreet.”

  
Armitage’s ire only seems to burn brighter, and he balls his hands into fists.“I don’t want to. I’m sick of it. I want to know why, I don’t want to be meek and mild and quiet, I want to…” Armitage shakes, squeezes his eyes tight, and hears his mother gasp as her hand withdraws. He blinks, opening his eyes and looking down. Her hand is red. It’s blistered, even, and she holds it to her chest as she just looks at him for a moment. For the briefest of seconds, Armitage recognizes fear. The heated anger leaves him so quickly he almost feels dizzy, and steps closer, hands outstretched and then drawn back against himself.  
“I…”  
“Armitage.” His mother lifts her gaze and shakes her head. “It is not your fault.” She’s wrapping a piece of cloth around the burn now, pulling her gloves from her belt and tugging them down over her hands, despite the pain it must cause her. “I’d rather…not let this happen to another. With the king’s men just a few towns away…”

  
She sighs, reaching for Armitage. He tries drawing his hand back away from her, but she doesn’t falter, taking his hand and wrapping her own around it. “I want to tell you something. I was going to wait a little longer, but I believe it might be…prudent. If something ever happens, something you can’t explain, or when you don’t know what else to do, go to Loklinn. Go to the temple of Hestia, and find her priestess. A woman called Rae Sloane.”

  
She doesn’t smile as she squeezes Armitage’s hands, but there does seem to be something more relaxed about her as she finally tells him, as if she’s given up something that has been weighing down on her for years. “She’s an old friend. Someone who shares my distaste for Brendol Hux. I trust she will know what to do.”

  
As she leans up to kiss his forehead, Armitage is still. He knows he won’t let his power hurt anyone again.

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

It is two winters later before anything happens again.

  
The guards that normally stand around the town, chatting with locals or occasionally bragging in the tavern about the direwolves they’ve frightened off, are terser, crueller than before. There are more of them in the town too, unknown men and women who don’t even look at the villagers, let alone talk to them. Armitage sees them taking from merchant stands without so much as a coin paid, sees how they spear bags and baskets and retrieve some kind of food with a cruel laugh and a shove at anyone who says anything to them. Armitage knows that with the increasing number of rules and harsher enforcement of them, Brendol Hux draws ever closer to the throne.

  
Armitage has taken to wearing a hood. It’s his mother’s idea. She says it’s for the oncoming cold, that she had some spare material left over for him, but he knows it’s because of his hair. It’s far more obvious against the white of the snow and the dark of the sky than in summer. Despite this, he still gets strange looks; the guards’ eyes linger It’s always one of the newer ones, who’ll pause and just look at him for a moment before continuing with their patrol. Armitage knows what has happened to people who looked different in other villages, and so far he’s wondered how he’s gone so long without attracting any attention.

  
But, as his mother has commented, he seems…paler. Colder, in a way. He’s seen it in the piece of burnished tin above the sink, how his eyes don’t glint back at him as much as they used to. They’ve started to resemble his mother’s more, pale blue occasionally tinged with grey. It’s this which brings the cautious eyes back to him. People actively pull their children out of his path, and if Armitage ever cared about it, he doesn’t show it now. When he gets the suspicious looks these days, he simply tugs his hood up before continuing with his business.

  
Armitage is aware that his mother is tense. It is much worse than before; she rarely leaves the house some days, unless she is completely covered. She believes no-one will recognize Armitage – for what reason they would recognize him, Armitage still isn’t sure – so he still goes out most days. He’s quiet. He’s polite. He doesn’t cause trouble. He’s started wearing gloves this year; all previous winters he’s been happy to wander outside during with little more than his usual clothing on. When he was younger, he would share his bedroll with his mother in the colder seasons, to keep each other warm. She called him her little ember, and Armitage had never thought twice of it. Now they sleep separately on their own beds of straw, and Armitage often wonders whether his mother is as cold as before. If she is, she never asks for his help, and Armitage doesn’t offer.

  
It’s one of those cold days where it’s exceptionally still outside, where the snow has blanketed everything and made the whole world seem quieter.

Even the birds are quiet. Armitage enjoys the silence as he walks, empty bag slung over his shoulder. They don’t need much at the moment, just a few things that his mother can’t make herself, which is for the best. The soldiers are worse in the cold, upset at their current posting – here instead of in the south, which is infinitely warmer, even in the depths of winter. Yet when Armitage arrives in town, he’s surprised to see very few people about. Shops are still open, but the usual merchant stalls are empty or completely packed away, and where there should have been a slurry of snow and mud in the centre, there’s nothing but a few sets of footprints across the fresh snow. With the accompanying silence, it’s unnerving.

  
It doesn’t stop Armitage. He’s never kept track of any festivals or days of fasting, so he simply continues to the bakery, stamping snow from his boots. The baker does give him a strange look when he doesn’t pull down his hood, but his face is still visible, so he pays him no heed. Armitage looks for a moment, his eyes trailing outside again.

 

“Where is everyone?” he asks, his brow still furrowed.

  
The baker looks up from filling his bag and snorts out a sound that might be a laugh.

  
“Don’t be bleedin’ stupid. The guards are doing raids. They’re looking for those Elemental bastards, an’ so they should. People have stayed home so they don’t have to have all their shit thrown everywhere while they’re searchin’. I told the captain of the guard to come here later, bring all his boys for some food. Doin’ a fine job, they are.” He closes the bag and passes it back over to Armitage. “Gettin’ rid of all those half-breeds once and for all. They’s dangerous. A man got drowned two months ago down near the Tellivra. Halfway up the bank they find his horse with lungs full of water. If that isn’t the work of a demon, I don’t know what the fuck there is.” He stares at Armitage for a moment, hand still on the top of his bag. “Matter of fact…when youse first got here, I thought you was one of ‘em. Are you?”

  
Armitage tugs at the bag, feeling heat flare across his cheeks. “If I was, would I still be here?” he retorts, staring right back at the man.

  
“Don’t know.” The baker’s gaze had been jovial, but now his features have hardened. “Can’t trust no-one these days. Especially people who come from gods know where.”

  
“Where we came from is no-one’s business.” Hux slings his bag onto his back, and feels how clammy his hands are out of his gloves. “Why are they raiding? Why didn’t they do that earlier?”

  
“The Prince Regent.” The man takes a step towards the counter, leaning over it. “He says himself, yesterday in the square, ‘The town will be free of Elementals by the time the clock strikes eleven, all of them swinging from the gallows.’ Keeps us safe, he does.”

  
Armitage’s blood runs cold, and he finds himself stepping back with his eyes still locked on the man. Before the baker can say anything more, the door is swinging behind Armitage, his feet crunching through the snow.

  
The house is empty and cold. Armitage knew something was wrong when he didn’t see smoke pouring from the chimney, when there were no lights in the windows nor a sight of a figure moving about behind the thin curtains. He presses his hand against the door, and it opens without resistance. The deadbolt is on the floor, a hunk of the door still attached to it, both from the door itself and from the jamb to which it had been nailed. Embers from the fireplace are scattered across the flagstones, the table upended, cushions torn and goose feathers littered about the room.

  
“Ma?” Armitage steps over the bench, his footsteps too loud and too soft all at once. No answer.

  
Even when he goes upstairs he finds nothing, the same level of chaos in the loft as downstairs. The old dresser with all its drawers gutted and left on the floor, clothes spilling out like innards. There are signs of a struggle: the curved line now hacked into the wall. It’s from a sword, and a large one at that. Yet no blood.

  
Downstairs, everything had been present. Upstairs, though, Armitage notices something missing. When he doesn’t spot the wine-red cover torn to pieces on the floor, or thrown to the other side of the room, he knows they’ve taken the book – As proof, most likely. It’s simply…gone.

  
Armitage lowers himself onto his bedroll, eyes flicking about while the rest of him is very still. She’s gone, too. He knows this. But as a mortal, and with no proof that she knew of an Elemental, let alone kept one in her home for so long…perhaps his mother is now a prisoner. There’s a well of panic in his chest, and Armitage sits for a moment, feeling his breathing grow quick. What was he to do? Going after her would be madness; Armitage doesn’t even know what to do with the strange power coursing through his veins. He doesn’t know how to control it. He doesn’t even know where she’s gone, let alone whether…

  
His throw grows tight, and Armitage makes a choked sound as he clutches at his chest. They expected something like this, so now it’s happened, why can’t he just sort it? Armitage squeezes his eyes shut as they begin to prickle and burn, hot tears leaking from the corners. “Mother,” he says, the sound of it pathetic and small in the empty house. It’s not large inside, but now it feels so vast, and so, so cold. There’s nothing he can do. Nothing he knows to do.

  
But there’s someone who does know what to do.

  
The thought is unprecedented, and makes Armitage’s head jerks up. Yes. There is someone who knows. Someone who will help him with all of this.

  
He allows himself just a few moments before he’s moving almost without thinking, filling his bag with whatever he could carry. He would have liked the book with him, if as a source of comfort than anything else. But he hasn’t got it, and there is no point in hanging around.

  
Armitage’s chest aches as he steps over the threshold. He does turn back just once, to shut the gate to the small stone wall around the front of the house, fingers lingering on the worn rowan. It’s for protection, his mother had said, in a distant memory from when he was small. And what a lot of protection it had done.

  
Armitage sets off into the darkness, and when he’s certain he’s alone in the forest he lifts one hand, a flame flickering into life and illuminating the dark path in front of him. He has to get to Rae Sloane.

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

He knows that he must take the path through the village, despite the risks. It should be slightly busier now, if the raids have ended, and with more people milling about he will be much harder to spot. If he sees his mother, maybe he can help, if the raiders haven’t already moved on to...wherever they take people, when they do. It’s a foolish thought, one he shouldn’t even consider, but it doesn’t stop him from trudging through the fresh snow towards the centre of town. At first, the streets are still empty, but only as he comes closer and closer to the main square does he realise why.

  
He hears the people before he sees them. Heckling crowds of villagers, screeching in fury as they crowd around the stocks. He’s never seen the townsfolk so angry, but from what he can hear, Armitage knows at once that it must have something to do with his mother. With his hood up, no one can see his hair – almost glowing in the relative darkness – as he pushes through a forest of legs to try to get to the front. There’s a loud crack, a cry of pain, and his heart jolts in his chest. He shoves further, pushing until he’s standing in the second row, and although his view is obscured he can see enough to know what has caused the commotion.

  
He sees his mother, in the stocks.

  
Her hair is crimson and the wood around her wrists looks charred, and Armitage freezes as he sees the whip come up and down again, with a crack that fills the square and burns his ears. He can’t see behind the stocks, but he doesn’t need to. He knows what’s going on, although his mother had always tried to squirrel him away whenever a trial was carried out in the square.

  
A man in armour stands by, watching the proceedings, and readjusts his stance. “Let this be a lesson to all those who think they can escape the reach of the Prince Regent,” he says in a cold voice, looking out about the people. “He will not forget everyone here, who live in fear of those who try to hide like rats among us. How are we to protect ourselves against such scum?”

  
The whip cracks again, seeming to stir the crowd into a frenzy, shouting such vicious things that Armitage can barely believe he’s hearing them. He knows these people, or knew them, at least; they might not have been friendly, but they were never truly unkind.

  
“We will eradicate them, like the vermin they are,” the armoured man sneers, and Armitage stares as his mother lifts her gaze for a moment. She sees him, and flames begin to scurry up along her arms, snow hissing and sizzling away as it lands on her skin. In the darkness, she is a violent beacon, and for just a moment, Armitage is frightened.

  
“Again.” The man in armour waves a hand, but as the whip connects this time, it all but disintegrates as she screams, pulling at the stocks.  
“Get away!” she shrieks, and Armitage watches in shock, his lips parting. She had never…she’d always let him start the fire, how had she kept it, how was she doing this…

  
The torturer grabs at his still-burning hand and screams as he runs, only for the man in armour to unsheathe his sword and stalk towards her. “I’ll deal with you myself, you bitch,” He snarls, as Armitage darts from the crowd.

  
He’s always had to be brave, but he’s never had to be stupidly so. His hood falls back as he runs, both hands searing as he jams them into the spot of armour-free cloth behind the man’s right knee. It bursts into flames as the man howls, wildly swinging the sword. It cuts down, the blade missing Armitage’s head by a hair’s breadth, only for the butt of it to then swing back, connecting with his forehead. It explodes in pain as he drops back onto the snow, vaguely aware of people scattering and screaming as something big and fiery builds before him. Through spotted vision and blood in his eyes, he stares up, trying to discern what was illuminating the entire square.

  
It is his mother, except, she looks more like a creature from their book than anything else. Her forearms have darkened, her fingertips the colour of coal as she burns through the solid oak stocks as if they were parchment, hair lifting from its tangled braid until it’s a whirlwind of flame. “Get away from him,” she snarls, her voice so loud Armitage can only press his hands to his ears. She’s terrifying. For a moment, Armitage just wants to run, to scramble through the snow and escape. But when his mother looks down at him, he knows that she won’t harm him.

  
But she’s still turning black. Armitage knows what this means, and he tries to get to his feet, to tell her to stop, no, she can’t, she has to control herself –

  
A hand grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and lifts him bodily from the ground, up onto a saddle. The horse now underneath him skitters and shies, and Armitage kicks back, fists trying to batter whoever had grabbed him.

  
“Brighid, I have him,” a voice calls, and for a moment Armitage’s struggles cease. A woman? He’s never known a woman to have a grip as strong at this, but his surprise doesn’t last for long. He tries to press his burning hands to whoever is behind him, yet she pays him as much heed as a gnat, wrapping an iron arm around his chest to hold him.

  
“No, get off me,” Armitage snarls, even trying to bite at the arm that holds him there. His captor merely squeezes him tighter, causing him to cough and strain for air.

  
“I have him.”

  
His mother stares at the person on the horse, as black streaks creep up her face and her eyes take on the look of hot coals. She steps forwards, an arm outstretched towards them, the flames coming with her. “Keep him safe, Sloane.” The horse starts and tears at the ground with its hooves, but the rider keeps it there.

  
“I’m so sorry, Armitage.” His mother reaches up, and for once, Armitage feels warmth in her touch. It slides over his cheek and Armitage can’t help but lean into it, something horrible forming in his chest. This is a goodbye.

  
“Mother, please, no.” He pulls at the arm around him, trying to reach out towards her. “Please, don’t, you have to stop, you have to turn back –”

  
There’s a moment there, a moment Armitage misses, before the armoured man lunges forward. The sword pierces his mother’s stomach, and Armitage kicks and screams, one hand reaching out towards her. At his back, Sloane goes still for a moment, before her heels kick into the sides of her horse, and Armitage can only struggle and wail as the animal surges forward, taking them away from the smell of burning flesh and straw and into the quiet, dead night.


	2. Inferno

Armitage is cold as they ride, eventually resorting to shivering even as he’s held by his saviour, his eyes scrunched up against the snow and wind that catch at his cheeks. Maybe this is a dream. A dreadful, dreadful dream, and soon he will wake up and his mother will be cooking at the range, and all will be well.

It doesn’t happen. Armitage becomes vaguely aware that they’re slowing, soon, the horse wheezing under its riders’ weight, great puffs of smoke coming from its nose as the woman pulls on the reins. He can barely see, his tears beginning to freeze on his cheeks, and only becomes aware that they’ve stopped when the rider dismounts, and brings him down with her. He stumbles, and falls into the snow, gasping at the sudden contact. The rider huffs and drags him back up again. “Move.”

Armitage doesn’t stop to question the stranger (who may not be a stranger after all: if she is _Sloane,_ and if _Sloane_ means what he thinks it does, then he has been saved a lot of time…) . He shuffles forward, feet catching in the snow as he’s directed towards a large, stone building, one that looks strangely comforting from the outside. Its windows glow a warm orange, and once they’re inside with the doors shut Armitage is more aware of himself, of the chattering of his teeth and the numbness in his hands.

Sloane moves in front of him, a great cloak swishing behind her as she goes towards the great fireplace at the end of a long room, which Armitage realises is full of pews. A church? A temple? He tilts his head, taking in the great stained glass windows, before he hears a call from the other end of the room: “Come here.”

He looks up, and sees that his saviour has removed her hood. Without it, he sees that she is old, a streak of white in her black hair, and with skin darker than Armitage has ever seen before.

Hesitating only slightly – this woman has just saved his life, after all; he doesn’t think she’s brought him here as a prisoner – Armitage walks forward, kneeling by the fire and rubbing at his hands, careful not to stick them straight into the coals. That would hurt, in this state.

“I didn’t realise Brighid had a son,” Sloane says after a moment, having hung  her cloak by the fire and now settling into a chair, her eyes narrowed as she stares at him. “I would have hoped you knew a little more about what to do with yourself, besides merely scalding people.”

Armitage is silent as he stares into the fire, his jaw now tight as it all begins to sink in. Sloane sighs, and Armitage hears her get up. When he looks over, she has a cup in one hand and a dark brown bottle in another. Something foul-looking flows from the bottle, and she pushes the cup into one of his hands. “Drink.”

Armitage stares for a moment before gingerly sniffing it. His nose wrinkles and he coughs. Sloane scowls at him: “ _Drink_.”

Armitage does, and immediately regrets it. It’s hot and cold at the same time, burning in his mouth and throat all the way down to his stomach. He coughs and almost drops the cup, which the woman pulls away at the last moment and smiles thinly.

“There. That ought to help.” She pours a larger measure for herself and sips, settling herself back in her chair. “You were lucky I got there in time. I thought it had been a while since I’d visited Brighid.”

“Maybe I wasn’t lucky,” Armitage mutters, folding his arms around himself. The events of the day are finally beginning to sink in.

“You would prefer not to be alive?”

Armitage grits his teeth, and hugs himself even more before returning his hands to the fire, this time dipping them into the coals.

“I knew the raids were taking place. I just…don’t understand why she allowed herself to get caught.” The woman shook her head. “She should have–

“It was the townspeople,” Armitage interrupts, dragging the back of his hand over his cold nose and sniffing. “They never trusted her, and they thought I was strange. A bewitched child, or something of that nature. I went out last week, and when I came back…” Armitage’s throat closes up. “She’s gone.”

He’s tried not to think about it, but now the reality has fully set in. His mother is gone. Dead. He is alone. Armitage’s hands fall from the embers, and he wraps both arms around himself as he stares into the flames. “She’s gone. I don’t…” The tears come hot, hissing onto the flagstones like little spots of fat. Armitage hasn’t cried since he was little, but now…It aches. It aches and aches and aches. The closeness with his mother might not have been there, in those last few months, and yet his chest feels even hollower now, savagely carved out and left with a gaping emptiness. He has nothing, now. He didn’t even stop to get their book. Hot tears continue to spill  as Armitage sucks in wet, gasping breaths.

He doesn’t get the luxury for long. There is the sound of movement beside him, and the woman takes hold of his shoulders, none too gently.

“Stop it.” Armitage blinks in surprise. “Stop what you are doing. Has anything ever been accomplished with tears?” When Armitage doesn’t respond, she shakes her head. “No. Nothing. They’re a waste of time.” Her eyes seem to be burning even brighter than before, and there is a harsh tone to her voice. “Brighid wouldn’t have wanted this. To see her son turned into some weak, pathetic thing who can barely keep himself alive.” She straightens her back. “Look at yourself.”

She pulls him up, by his arms, and yanks a small silvered circle from within the folds of her robes. It is made of glass, something Armitage has never seen before but recognises from having read about. It reflects him so well that for a moment he is stunned into silence, looking at how the tear tracks on his face cut through the dirt and grime he had accumulated on his journey. But his hair isn’t red. It was dark, almost his mother’s hue, before she... And his eyes don’t glint and glow, as his mother had warned him about. Armitage swallows hard, and looks at the woman’s gaze in the mirror.

“I know what you’re meant to look like. And it’s not that.” Sloane puts the mirror back where it belongs, and Armitage’s attention is drawn back to her. “I didn’t think Brighid would let you get like this, but clearly I was wrong.” Her chin tilts up. “We have work to do. What is your name, child?”

“Armitage,” he murmurs, and she huffs.

“No last name?”

“No?” Armitage frowns. This detail had never been important before. Sloane makes a face at his response, though, and for a moment just looks out of the stained glass window, depicting several skeletons and what appear to be spirits under the mantle of a hooded woman. When she looks back, her jaw is set.

“Your name is Armitage Hux. You know which Hux you are related to, even if she never told you. And you are not dim enough to misunderstand what that means.”

Armitage stares at Sloane as if she’s gone mad, only to have her smile, a look that reminded Armitage of the time a cat had stolen into the dairy farm and made off with half a pint of cream, chased out the gate by the farmer, stick in hand. It’s a look Armitage doesn’t want to trust, even if he knows at this point he has few other options.

_“Hux._ I will not refer to that fool by the name. You might be a bastard, but you’ve ten times the claim he does.” She looks him up and down before folding both arms behind her back.

Armitage narrows his eyes, tilting up his chin. “Who are you, then?”

The woman almost seems to smile, properly, and tilts her head. “Rae Sloane. I doubt your mother told you much about me.”

Armitage stares at her for what feels like a good few moments. A bastard. There had been rumours, of course: that his mother had murdered his father, or that there had never been a marriage and that he, Armitage, was the product of a wild and torrid affair. The townspeople had always thought him strange, and his  lack of a father had only given them more to gossip about.  

But things made sense, now. The guards in the town; the Prince Regent’s tirade against his kind. A cruel reason to upend the lives of countless innocent people – and to take his mother.

Armitage has been quiet for a while, and when he looks up he sees Sloane still staring at him, one brow arched. “You’re next in line, you know. The queen is barren, and Brendol isn’t in a position to find another. Not to mention the rumours that it’s himself who is the problem.” Sloane laughs somewhat at that, a derisive sound. “But you’re Igni. Better than him. And if you’re willing, I’ll tell you about this.” She gestures to him, to the flames in the fireplace. “I can teach you how to control it.”

“How?” Armitage narrows his eyes, somewhat. “You’re not Igni. What can you know about us?”

Sloane nods approvingly, which makes Armitage blink in confusion. “Good. Be suspicious. It’ll help you later on. Blind trust is for fools.” She nods again, leaning back in her chair. “Brighid was Igni. Your close affinity with Enera is something that Igni and her followers have in common. And as a result, the Daughters of Enera are bound to aid Igni. Or so the tenants say.” Sloane waves her hand. “I don’t adhere too strongly to their beliefs. They’ve gotten other Daughters killed, in the past. But I have enough to know what to do with you,”

Armitage stares at her for a long moment, only to turn his head and rub at his arm. “My mother… She said not to. That if I couldn’t control it, I’d become a Coal. I don’t…” His lower lip trembles and threatens more tears. “I don’t want that.”

“But neither do you wish to live in hiding and fear for the rest of your natural life.” Sloane is curt as she fixes Armitage with a look. “I will teach you how to control it. And when you are strong enough, we will find you a Guardian.”

That gets Armitage’s attention. His eyes shine as he looks at Sloane, and for a few moments he’s speechless. He could have a Guardian. If he did...he could do anything. Anything at all that he wanted. He opens his mouth for a moment before closing it again, hesitation taking over for just a moment.

Sloane huffs. “Don’t tell me you need to think it over,”

Armitage pursed his lips, only to sit up a little straighter, to tip his head back a bit more. Sloane’s mouth quirks up.

_“Hux._ I think it’ll suit you.”

Hux thinks so, too.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Again.”

Sloane stands off to the side as she watches Hux, her arms folded across her chest and the same stony expression on her face that Hux was now far too used to. Armitage hadn’t liked it, and she’d frightened him with it at first. Now she just irritates him: he lets out a huff of air from his nose, feeling heat wash over his hands where they are resting in his lap.

“I’ve done it so many times. I know how.”

“You’re still thinking about it,” she replies. “I see it. You’re still tensing, still preparing yourself. It’s your breath. Do you think about breathing every second of the day?” Rae shakes her head and then gestures to him. “Again.”

Hux breathes in and breathes out, his eyes shut. But this time he feels flames lick out across his bare arms and the flagstones on the floor. It continues for four beats, and when it fades, the flagstones shimmer with heat. Hux looks up at them and then at Rae, who makes a face before waving a hand.

“I suppose it’ll do.”

“It worked! It was the same as all the last ones,” Hux snaps back. The frustration that used to sit, hot, in the pit of his stomach now lives high in his chest, in his lungs, where it’s more easily accessed. He’d never let it be like this before – this close and volatile – but Rae has little time for tentativeness, and he has learned to adapt to her ways.

“Do it again. I’ll let you know when you’re done.” She will, Hux knows that, and so without question he settles back down on the flagstones, and breathes. His legs will hurt, his knees will be sore when he finally stands up, but it doesn’t matter. He can feel Sloane’s eyes on him, and when his own gaze snaps back up for just a moment he sees her scowling.

“This is your problem.” She stalks over, and before he can even react her boot is firmly in his chest, and he’s shoved back onto the stone. “You’re not using your anger. I see it in you, how you flare up whenever I criticise you. Yet you try to calm it and react rationally.” She scoffs. “There is a time for rationality. – and it is _not_ when a guard’s halberd is coming towards you, or when a rapier is aiming for your heart.” Hux can feel his own indignation flaring from the indignity of being shoved over onto the floor, Sloane’s boot still pressing down on his chest. “You’re _weak_. Just like–”

Before she can finish Hux grabs at Sloane’s foot and pulls. She doesn’t fall – he would have been shocked if she had – but instead steps forwards through the movement, over Hux, so that her other foot purposefully catches the side of his head. His ears ring from the blow, and when Hux scrambles to his feet he feels the cool temple stone like ice against his bare feet.

“Like who?” he snaps, his teeth gritting together. Sloane does not mean it; it’s to get a rise out of him, he knows, but it’s the disgrace of it all that makes his ears burn, and as he breathes this time he sees the flagstones glow white.

Sloane takes a step back away from them as Hux glares. She hums. “Better.”

Hux storms off. As he walks out into the rain outside, it sizzles on his bare shoulders.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

The arch itself looks old, but as if it has been recently worked on; a few new pieces of stonework seem to have been added, all inscribed with glyphs.. Sloane has already placed candles where they need to be, illuminating the arch with just enough light. The top of it soars away into the darkness of the forest, so that when Hux looks up he can only see the distant peaks of pines, and the night sky above them. Sloane is illuminated by the candles too, but instead of making her look as cold and sharp as the arch, in their light she looks warmer than ever. This is a comfort to Hux. He knows this ritual is dangerous, but it’s one of the few options he has left.

Sloane finishes with the candles – she insisted on a taper, saying he will need his full strength – and blows it out, before turning with the athame held out handle-first towards him. Hux takes it. The leather is cool against his palm and well-worn, but the knife itself is completely clean.

“Cut, and say the words. Focus on what you need, Hux.” Sloane gives him a steady look, and for once Hux thinks he can see cautious pride in her gaze. “Remind yourself why you are doing this. Otherwise...otherwise, even I do not know what will happen.”

Hux knows perfectly well why he’s doing this. He grips the athame and draws it towards the fleshy underside of his forearm, pressing it until blood begins to bead against his pale skin. He’s going to kill Brendol. But to do so, he needs someone by his side. A vessel to contain the worst of himself.

Hux sets the knife down on a cracked piece of stone and steps forward, cupping his hand to the wound and collecting the  blood in the palm of his hand. It’s hot, and when he drops it onto the stones he hears the faintest sizzling sound. He ties a strip of fabric around his arm and holds it out towards the arch.

_“Et ego invocabo spirituum, mihi det tutorem, et ego vivo et sicut calculus in altera vita.”_

The screen flickers up before him like flames eating away at parchment, filling the archway with orange light. The heat he can feel, and he wonders what it must feel like to Sloane, standing back but still within its range. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple; Hux keeps his arm outstretched, waiting and feeling. Plenty of spirits will answer the call. He can’t blame them; they don’t wish to reside in the underworld. They want to be free again, to roam the woods and the mountains and feel the cool breezes of the ocean on their faces. But Hux doesn’t need just any spirit.

He thinks he knows what his looks like. He sees wild flaming hair, and, as he stares through the glassy surface, two figures. Both are large, even given their flickering forms, although one is very much more female. That must be her. Hux focusses his attention and feels something dull in his chest. The moment the feeling manifests, the spirit stops in her tracks. The other continues forward, its stride quickening. Hux’s surprise causes his focus to snap to the second figure. The closer it gets, the more panicked Hux becomes.

It’s so…it can’t be a spirit. The thing looks more hulking the closer it gets, jagged flames in unnatural shapes making up its form, its core so dark Hux thinks he might fall into it and never see the light of day again. It looks like a demon, a hellish creature from the depths; it _can’t_ be a soul, he’s ruined the ritual, it’s not –

Before the creature can reach him, Hux drops his arm, the flaming surface shattering into a thousand pieces. His arms come up over his head and he cries out, trying to get away from the spirit, if that is indeed what it is. When the sound of the roaring flames disappears, and when Hux is certain that the only scents he can smell are that of pine and blood and not of his own burning flesh, he risks looking up. Sloane is there, and her brow is furrowed.

“Why did you stop?”

“Didn’t you…didn’t you see it?” Hux starts to straighten up, glancing over his shoulder as if the creature is still there, still running for him. “It wasn’t human. It…it’s not what should have come out.”

“And how are you to know what to expect?” she snaps, coming closer to him. Hux watches himself flare up as her skin becomes more illuminated, only for her to lift his arm and check the fabric wound around it. When it seems to have passed  her inspection, she lowers it back down. “You are not to expect anything. You know what you want, and what you want to achieve. You do not know what you _need_.”

She steps back, and after a brief moment of thought, waves her arm. The flames around them snuff themselves out. Hux stares at her, as if seeing something new for the first time. He’s always simply thought that glint in her eye to be –

“Don’t be foolish,” Sloane says, as if she can read his thoughts. (Hux has never doubted that she can.) “The goddess provides for her most devoted, whether they are Igni or not. I have no need of a Guardian, but I will never know the power _you_ may one day wield.” She stares down at him for a long moment before stepping to the side and towards the path back to the temple. “Come. There is no point in repeating the ritual tonight.”

Hux doesn’t linger. He follows her off of the platform as quickly as if it had burned him, his feet skittering while Sloane’s land firmly on the beaten dirt. He catches up with her, and walks just behind her left shoulder.

“When I saved you, you were nothing but a slip of a boy,” Sloane says after a long, quiet moment, her eyes never leaving the path ahead of them. “Too afraid of your own powers to even consider using them. I know your mother never would have allowed that, unless her paranoia had finally gotten the better of her.”

Hux opens his mouth to protest, and a raised hand silences him. “That was not a slight on her character. She had her reasons. The most dangerous fire is the one you believe to already have burned itself out:there is no doubt of that. But you shouldn’t have followed her philosophies.” Another moment of quiet. “You are still too reserved. Still…afraid of yourself, even with all we’ve done.”

Hux will admit that he is still afraid, yes – but not to Sloane. He wants to prove her wrong; he wants to prove all of her teachings _right_. It’s unfair that he can’t seem to, but when flames lick their way up his arms or scorch the straw targets at which he aims them, he always wants to hold back. Burning straw is one thing. Burning human flesh… Hux wraps his arms around himself at the thought, his lips pressing together.

“To be unafraid of fire is to be a fool. But not to recognize its full potential, to try to limit it…that is much more dangerous, Hux.” Rae cuts a glance across at him; Hux feels its weight. “We shall try again on the next full moon.”

The way she says it makes it sounds like a failure – and it is. Hux was ready, he knows he was, and the sting of failure wages war against his own instinct to shy away and never try again. He _has_ to try again; he knows he has to. It’s that determination that simmers low in his chest, that now makes him want to turn and go straight back to the arch, to burn a pathway to whoever will allow him to be what he must be. But he will wait for Sloane to tell him when.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

The chance comes again, but this time Hux is at little fault. He cuts along his other arm, blood staining his left hand and dripping down onto the stone, the arch flickering back to life in front of him. But this time, he stays. He waits. He watches as spirits flicker on up to the glassy surface, but none of them have much substance, looking more like lacewing flies than anything else. If Hux blew at them, he had a feeling they would simply blink away into nothing. There’s nothing as strong as what he saw before, and after three hours he is struggling to keep his attention on the arch. This time, when the wall of fire fails, Hux is the one to fail with it, slumping to the ground and pressing his face to the cool stone. Sloane is there, this time, with a hand on his back.

“You did well,” she murmurs, but once again he can only hear disappointment in her voice.. “Spirits are fickle, in that state. You saw how weak they were –

“And not one of them tried to break through to me.” Hux’s voice shakes. “They saw how weak _I_ was. How pathetic. They didn’t think it was worth it. What use am I, if I can barely keep my own flame alive? I can’t keep one of them sustained.”

He chokes on the last word, his back hunched and his arms wrapped around himself. He feels Sloane go still and quiet. Instead of words of comfort he feels her fingers smoothing over the strip of fabric around his arm, checking it, before those same hands are about his chest, lifting him to his feet. He wasn’t expecting comfort, but what he does expect is precisely where it should be: the disappointed look on Sloane’s face.

“Do _not_ give me that,” she snaps, her grip tight on his arm. The hot lump in Hux’s throat sticks for a moment, but instead of grief keeping it in place, Hux recognizes the burn of frustration. “You are only pathetic when you think you are. And right now you are quite possibly the most pathetic excuse for an Ignis I have ever seen.” She makes sure he can stand before letting go, pulling herself away when Hux sways towards her. He’s tired, so tired. But Sloane is hardly going to help him with that.

“Another full moon. The underworld is not running out of spirits any time soon,” she mutters, a touch gruffly, and the walk back through the summer-warm forest is silent and tense. The moon may not run out, but Hux knows his time just might.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux knows that when other people visit the temple, he’s to be out of sight at all times, unless Sloane tells him to come forward. Most of the times she doesn’t, simply passing blessings along to those who have asked for it, and maintaining the temple so that those who do find their way to it have somewhere to rest for a few hours. Given its location, travellers are fairly common, but most simply pass by the front and pay respects to the graves outside.

It’s one of Hux’s tasks to maintain these graves, but it was fortunate that today day, he was in the back, polishing the stained glass depicting the goddess Enera. Shrouded in flame and darkness, he’s always admired her; his mother’s stories instilled that respect, even more than Rae’s devotion. He  loves the fire goddess, even if only in the form of her glass effigy..

Hux hears the clattering of footsteps on the flagstones outside, and with a soft sigh he disappears up a winding staircase, settling himself just above the doorjamb of the entrance to the temple. It’s a spot of his that lets him see most and hear all of what happens below – and, to Hux’s surprise, that Sloane hasn’t yet discovered.

First he sees purple, then gold, and his brow furrows as he recognizes the banner of the king – or, at the very least, of the Prince Regent. Hux hears footfalls, and then Sloane’s voice:. “Sirs, hail. Welcome to the temple of the gods. If you require my service in any way, please don’t hesitate to –”-“

“Don’t play around, you bitch.” A gruff voice makes Hux’s heart jumps in indignation, which he sees mirrored in Sloane’s sudden squaring of her shoulders, her eyes narrowing into slits.“All temples are being searched. I don’t believe I need to tell you why.”

“In fact, I would like to be told.” Hux sees Rae’s arms cross over her chest, and knows the look that the stranger is getting is searing. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, seeing only Sloane, before a man steps towards her. He’s shorter by an inch or so, and, from what Hux can see of his back, dressed in much finer garb. His muddy orange hair is short, a militaristic cut, and his body the product of far too many fine foods in life. Hux recognizes him: the Prince Regent.

“Everyone knows how the Enera’s _daughters_ feel about the Elementals. About Igni in particular. I’ve experienced no less than three attacks this very month while on the roads. I believe – he reaches out and stabs a finger at the crest around Sloane’s neck – “ _this_ to be their symbol. They call themselves protectors; I call them a nuisance. Which is why my men are going to search your damned temple until I’m certain you’re not harbouring any half-breeds.”

He spits on the floor at Sloane’s feet, and Hux feels his face burn as he glares down at the back of the man’s head. How dare he? How dare he do such a thing? He’s surprised Rae hasn’t yet struck him, but instead he sees her eyes cut skyward for a moment. They lock with his. It would appear she’s aware of his hiding spot after all.

“Your Highness,” Sloane says, through her teeth. “I can assure you, I am alone in this temple. I do not appreciate your insinuations of treachery. I simply attend to the goddess’ desires, and to those who need her light in dark times.” Sloane steps back, her eyes now scanning what can only be the people behind the prince. “But if you insist.”

She waves an arm out behind her, and Hux’s heart almost stops when he sees the soldiers move past her into the temple. He has nothing against visitors, but these don’t look like the type to offer some prayers and a few coins to the offering box. There’s a crash as something is pushed over inside, and Hux can feel heat burning across his cheeks. How _dare_ they?

After a moment, making sure the soldiers are out of earshot Sloane’s gaze cuts to the Prince Regent, and she seems to relax, confident in herself again.

“Let’s not play coy, Brendol. I’m certain you recognize me, hence why you have brought so many to my door today. If you are here to take me in chains, so be it. But I have a little information for you.” When she leans forwards this time, Hux watches as the man rears back, as if he’s repulsed by her.“The child lives. And as long as he does, so does Brighid.”

“A bastard,” the man snarls back, his hand flying to his sword hilt. “One with no right to the throne.”

Sloane’s only reaction is a thin smile. “A bastard _Ignis_. What would the realm think of that?”

The pause that drags out is unbearable, with even Hux able to feel the weight of it as he balances on the jamb, holding his breath.

“Where is it?” the prince finally spits.

“The child?” Sloane laughs. “You think I would tell you? Go to to the underworld, you festering maggot.”  

Seething, Brendol lunges forwards to grab Sloane’s arm and throw her back, sending her down to the floor. There’s a sickening thud, and when Sloane looks up there’s blood on her brow. Her voice, though, is calm and strong:

“Look, if you must. You will find nothing. Nothing of Brighid. Nothing of your _son_. You’re twenty years too late, Brendol.” She smiles, and Hux has to press his hand over his mouth as he watches the soldiers snatch up her arms and carelessly drag her from the temple. There’s no kicking, no screaming, but the sudden silence and the acute lack of Sloane’s presence makes Hux feel like there are ants crawling under his skin.

“Search everywhere. The basement, the back room, the archives. Everywhere,” Brendol snarls as he turns, spittle flying from his mouth as soldiers dart either side of him, chainmail and plate armour clanking as they go. Hux knows he didn’t have much time. He pulls himself from the jamb and out of the crack in the wall, trying to keep his footsteps as light as he can. They might not find the staircase up, unless they look too closely at the tapestries.

But: “There’s a second floor, sir,” he hears, and knows he has little choice but to get out, and fast. The window is only a few feet up, and the thick bed of moss that forms around the gravestones on that side would cushion his fall. He has both legs over the side of the open window by the time he hears footsteps clattering up towards him., He’s hanging on merely by his fingers; it’s the letting-go he can’t quite manage. It’s a long way down, longer than he thought, almost dizzyingly so.

“You! Stay your hand!” Hux’s head jerks up as a pair of hands reach for him, and then two, both grabbing at his wrists.

“Let me _go_ ,” Hux snarls as he feels himself being lifted, pulled back inside. Heat flares through his chest, and one man lets out a sound of warning, pointing to what Hux knows must be his eyes, glowing. The metal on the man’s arms burns red hot, and he screeches as he drops Hux.

The landing isn’t what he was hoping for. He’s too close to the gravestones for comfort, but the only thing hurt on the way down is his side, where it catches the old stone of one of them. He’s lucky it’s a glancing blow, as it leaves him wheezing for a moment, stars in his vision but nothing but a dull ache in his side. In moment he’s on his feet, caught between fleeing and doing _something_ – they’re going to burn it anyway... He hears the soldiers coming around from the front. Hux blinks, and sees Brendol.

Brendol sees him, too. Hux watches as the snarl on his face turns into abject _fear_. He is half-running, half-dragging Sloane toward his carriage. The driver looks nervous enough already, the horses prancing and snorting in fear at the commotion. When Rae resists, she manages to pull her arm free, stepping back and drawing the sword from her side. Flames lick up the steel as she snarls, throwing herself forwards. Hux doesn’t see the act, but next thing he knows Rae is on the floor, and Brendol’s boot kicks into her head. It’s such a savage act that for a moment Hux can’t breathe, let alone move.

The two guards who reach him first have swords. His eyes turn to slits as he curls his hands, watching as the metal of their armour turns red, then white. They scream as they fall, hands struggling to pull at the melting metal so well-attached to their chests, and their helmets drip down onto their faces.  The knights’ horses have already disappeared, leaving their riders behind to die.

When his men have fallen, Brendol meets Hux’s eyes again, and Hux sees terror there.  He knows the carriage will leave before he can reach it. He lets it go; he lets Brendol run from him. They will meet again.

When Hux crosses the threshold into the temple, he sees the remainder of the patrol, and hears a few more upstairs. An errant wave of his hand turns the pews into a bonfire, and the screams of the guards are almost lost to the roar of the flames.

He spares no-one.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

Only when the screams have stopped, when there is naught but ash and charred bones on the floor, does Hux find that the fire is gone. It’s no longer crackling along his hands or up his arms, and when he looks down at himself he sees that his legs are black with soot from calf to foot. His arms are, too, and his clothes are merely  singed remnants of what he was wearing before. There’s nothing, now. He knows that.

Hux stumbles outside into the cool evening, shuffling numbly away from the temple. When he glances back, it still glows in the half-light, but now looks more like a dying ember than anything else.

When night finally falls Hux can still see the temple in the distance, still smouldering despite the lack of wind. He’s settled himself in a patch of grass yet to become dry and stiff under the summer sun, and when he sits up he sees that his arms are still blackened. When he rubs at them, panic flares icily in his chest. It’s not coming off. Even when he licks his tongue around his parched mouth and then rubs at his arms with what little saliva he can muster, they remain the same. The power he wielded in the temple was so much, so terrifyingly addictive, and yet…

Hux can see in the darkness that he is still glowing with heat. He feels about his face. No deformed teeth. No holes with embers where his eyes should be. When his fingers tug  through his hair, he doesn’t feel flames. Hux lets out a breath and watches as a small section of grass turns brown by his feet. He has no choice anymore.

As if placed there by the gods, there is the arch, looming above him. It looks like nothing more than a ruin in the daytime, but now the moonlight is directly on it. It’s mere feet away from where Hux collapsed in the forest, almost eerily close. He lifts his eyes to the heavens. A full moon..

He has spent most of his time since the last ritual dejectedly doing what Sloane told him to do, when instead he should have been preparing. But if anything…today was the best preparation he could have received. Hux felt nothing but fury when he turned those people to ash. They would have just as readily run him through with their swords, if he had merely sat back. If he had been down there with Sloane from the beginning,he might have stopped them. Hux’s jaw tightens.

He gets up, resolution clear in his stride and his step. He needs this, and he’s going to take it. As he walks to the arch, his boot nudges something that glints in the light, attracting his attention. He looks down and feels a twist in his chest. A piece of flint, almost exactly the same shape and shade as the athame. It’s the best he can do, and Hux can’t help but let out a small, humourless laugh: a savage tool for a savage task.

He stoops to collect it and climbs the stairs, one wave of his arm illuminating all of the candles. They’re summer-dry and crackle into life in an instant, tallow melted to the stones. It’s as if they’re as much a part of the arch now as the ivy creeping around the pillars and the moss on the rocks. Hux brings up the flint, admiring it in the moonlight for just a moment or two. It’s sharper than the knife, more jagged, and this time Hux does not go for his arm. He tugs down his shirt, cutting a thin line over his own pounding heart, feeling as blood trickles in hot lines down his stomach. _Lifeblood is always more powerful_. And now it’s going to _work_. Hux tears a strip from the bottom of his shirt for later, but in the meantime steps forwards, his fingers and palm coated in blood.

When it falls this time, it’s like oil on a hot pan, sizzling and _burning_ on the cool stones, and the arch roars into life. It’s so much hotter this time, and the ivy withers and burns away, the moss turning to ash at Hux’s feet.

_“Et ego invocabo spirituum, mihi det tutorem, et ego vivo et sicut calculus in altera vita.”_

Hux knows what he wants. And this time, as the figures appear, he stays firm. There are a few wispy spirits that burn and die before they even make it to the surface; but then he sees him. The figure wreathed in flame, who _is_ flame itself, striding directly towards him. This time there is no companion; the spirit is alone.

_Come to me._ Hux reaches his hand until it’s almost touching the glassy surface. _Come to me. Guardian._

He’s afraid,but he knows this is what he must do. Hux stares and stares as the creature moves, confidence and surety in every step it takes. When it reaches the surface it does falter, for just a moment, clawed fingers reaching up and brushing the fiery surface almost tenderly. Hux presses back, flames igniting along his arm. _Come_.

The creature needs little more encouragement. Its fingers press through first, black and charred as coal, and the rest of it follows, burning so brightly that Hux has to squint for a moment. It steps through the roaring flames, still reaching for Hux. When its fingers touch his own, Hux can feel his body thrumming, his heart like a bird trapped in his chest. There is so much _power_ in this being. Hux keeps his arm outstretched, despite how it shakes and threatens to fall. The creature steps forwards out of the flames, and before Hux can say a word, its other hand presses to his chest. It hurts. It hurts like nothing Hux has ever experienced, and he tries to take a step back but finds he can’t move.

Panic fills his chest. He must have summoned a true demon, a being that will rip his power from his mortal form and take it as his own. Hux struggles and twists and _tries_ to pull away, a snarl forming on his face: _No._ The creature’s gaze snaps up to him, teeth bared just as Hux now bares them back, and it speaks:.

_“Mine.”_

Hux is burning inside and out, and in the midst of all that fire, he thinks he sees the creature smile. But just like that, the blinding light is gone, and Hux collapses.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 

It takes a few moments for Hux to realise what is happening. His face is in one of the few remaining patches of moss, still partially damp from the dew that morning. The heat from the arch has all but vanished now, with only the sticky heat of a summer night surrounding him; it’s uncomfortable, but not something he can’t deal with. He starts to move, slowly, each muscle feeling as though it’s been strung out and left to dry. Even his mouth is dry, and it takes a few swallows and movements of his tongue before the feeling is gone.

When he turns, he sees someone else: a figure just about coming to. They don’t look demonic. Not in the slightest, really; just…human. A man: naked, and broad, with a muscled back illuminated by moonlight, dappled with small marks. His hair looks long and inky black in the darkness, although where the moonlight falls on it Hux sees that it might be a shade of brown, or even auburn like his mother’s. It’s obvious the stranger is tall, given the length of him on the ground.

Hux sits there for a moment, simply watching him. He’s not moving, besides the rise and fall of his back with his breathing, and after a while Hux goes closer to him. When he moves, his breath catches and his hand goes to his chest, where he had sliced himself with the flint. He sees it a few feet away, the end daubed in blood, and then glances down at his chest. Where there should have been a jagged line there is nothing but a silvery scar, a handprint overlaying the whole thing; it looks almost like a birthmark. A large birthmark, but a birthmark nonetheless. Hux tugs up his shirt, not wanting to look at it. It hurts, for one thing. It hurts as he reaches over to turn the man onto his back.

He startles when he sees open eyes looking up at him, long hair still draped over his features.“You accepted me.” The man’s voice is low, almost melodic. “Last time you didn’t.”

Hux just stares at him for a moment as heat builds in his face. “That was my first attempt. And you hardly looked that inviting.”

The strange man looks down at himself and hums, a slow smile creeping across his face.

“Do I look inviting now?”

Hux snorts at that, rolling his eyes even when the man gives him a wider smile. He makes a point not to let his eyes travel lower than the man’s navel before darting straight back up.

“You look human,” he says, perhaps more coolly than before, but with a trace of relief. He _does_ look human. Broad and strong, but ultimately mortal. And _his_.

“What were you expecting?” The man sits up somewhat and tilts his head to look at Hux, who can’t seem to stop looking at his face. It’s strange. Hux reconsiders: he doesn’t look _entirely_ human, but rather it is as though he is holding up a glamour or using some other kind of shapeshifting magic. “I was human once. A long time ago, when we were made.”

His eyes lift to Hux’s, and they glow in the low light: a deep, deep amber, almost brown, a far more comforting shade than Hux could have anticipated. The man still looks somewhat dangerous, but Hux finds that he isn’t afraid. He sinks back a little onto the moss and leans his back up along a rock, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” Hux asks, hoping he doesn’t have to give one in return.

“Kylo Ren,” the man replies, lifting one large hand to push hair from his forehead. “You’re Armitage Hux. I know that much. I’ve had plenty of time to find out about you.”

_Of course he has._ Hux huffs and shakes his head a little, but then again, he has gotten used to people seeming to know a lot more than he does about himself. At least, from this point on, he’ll have _something_ that other people doesn’t know he has: a Guardian.

“Clearly not enough. I go by Hux.” He tips his head back a little, a challenge, and Kylo Ren’s face just splits into a grin.

“Hux. If that’s what we’re doing, call me Kylo. Your Guardian,”

Hux’s face warms at that, and as he looks at Kylo he sees him staring at him. Admiring him, even, with that faint smile still lingering on his lips.

“A true Ignis. You’re expressive,” Kylo comments.

“I need to be, it seems.” Hux quirks a brow. “And if I were not a true Ignis? You would have turned away from me?”

“I did, before.” Kylo sits up properly and rests both arms on his knees. “You weren’t…” He pauses, seeming to think of the correct word.

Hux huffs. “I was not strong enough? Too weak, perhaps?” When Kylo nods, Hux can’t help but be offended, though he knows it to be true.

“Too unsure.” Kylo moves his head a little, taking him in. “You’re much better now. You’ve accepted what you are.”

His gaze dips to the mark on Hux’s chest, and he moves closer, fingers catching at his bare arm. Heat flows through Hux, and to his surprise Kylo doesn’t pull away. He seems drawn, like a moth to an open flame, and those fingers lift to brush at the opening of Hux’s shirt. “Must have been strange, to be burned for the first time in your life,” Ren hums as he touches the mark on Hux’s chest.

Hux can feel the raw power in this being, something primal stemming from the ancient ritual. It’s…invigorating. Hux lifts his gaze to look at Kylo. How he could ever he have been afraid of him? How could he have not wanted him?

Hux sighs, his head tipping forwards in sheer exhaustion. His forehead lands on Kylo’s chest, and when Kylo doesn’t pull away, Hux he sags against him. It’s a test, of sorts. Sloane would have pushed him away in seconds, would have told him to stop and stand up on his own. His mother would have let him stay. And in that exhausted moment, Hux wants nothing more than to rest his heavy head for a while.

Kylo doesn’t move for a minute; and then he’s pushing closer to Hux, one hand cupping the side of his face and stroking over one hot cheekbone. He’s so solid, Hux can’t help but be comforted by it.

“I won’t burn you, will I?” he asks, and feels Ren shake his head a little.

“Not a chance. I’m made of stronger stuff than I once was.”

Hux huffs a laugh at that. He won’t hurt Ren, then: he doubts he could do much to a man who walked through fire to get to him. The intensity in Kylo Ren’s eyes hasn’t faded one bit, and Hux feels stronger for having seen it. He tips his head, and his fingers lift, more curious than before.  He brushes across Kylo’s jaw, through his dark hair, until his fingers find Kylo’s lips. They’re so full, compared to his own.

Kylo’s smile is plush and dangerous as his lips part and take the tip of Hux’s finger past them. Hux’s breath comes quickly at that, eyes flicking up. A new heat is present in his chest: something that wants to consume, but not destroy. His anger, he knows, is directionless; it will destroy anything in its path. But this heat, this desire…it wants what is right in front of him.

Hux pushes. His fingers slide with no resistance into a hot, slick mouth, and his own lips part to let a breath leave his mouth. Kylo’s lips curl, before he closes his mouth and lowers his head a touch, warm tongue twisting and wrapping around his fingers. A shiver runs down Hux’s spine, and he slides his hand around Kylo’s muscled back, nails digging into skin. This creature is his, just as much as he is the creature’s. There is no doubt about that now.

When Hux withdraws his fingers – slowly, reluctantly – Kylo’s voice comes out like honey.“Most pairs consummate their bond,” he murmurs, dipping his head so that his lips brush over Hux’s neck. “There are slabs of stone…ritual pairings…”

“I believe you know more than me on the matter.” Hux drags his fingers down Kylo’s back. He hisses before retaliating, the drag of his teeth sharp against his collarbone, pulling a gasp from Hux’s throat.

_“Non facietis mecum ignis?”_ It sounds like the language of the incantation, in which Hux isn’t fluent, but he doesn’t need to guess at the strange words’ meaning. The question is clear, and he groans as he tips his head to answer it without words.

Kylo’s mouth find his. When Hux kisses him he can feel a laugh behind the other’s lips: he’s inexperienced, of course, but Kylo clearly doesn’t seem to mind. Instead of frustration Hux is only met with enthusiasm.

Broad hands catch at his sides, and Hux feels himself being moved until the stone is at his back, warming to his skin. When he opens his eyes he sees stars and the moon hanging over them. Something bumps at his thigh, and when Hux’s eyes turn from the heavens he huffs. “If you think _that_ is going to work–”

“I doubt it,” Kylo mutters, his lips finding their way down Hux’s jaw, his throat, returning to where his teeth had grazed before and leaving a mark that Hux knows will smart for a good few days. “Some pairs have a much easier time than us.”

Hux couldn’t agree more, but there is still something heady about having this mountain of a man looming over him, setting his nerves alight as he dragged teeth and tongue over his skin, that makes him want to _try_. “What…can we do?” he breathes, his voice a touch raspy as Kylo ’s tongue passes over his chest, his breathing hitching when it finds its target.

“Normally, both parties are without clothes,” Kylo mutters into his skin, his hands leaving Hux’s sides to tug at the pathetic excuse for trousers that still linger about his waist. He tugs at them, pulling Hux’s hips up to throw the tattered fabric remnants unceremoniously to the side.

Hux couldn’t care less about the clothing. His hands are busy, tracing Kylo’s back, pushing through his luxuriously thick hair, his lips parting as he sighs into the night. One of Kylo’s hands travels south, and when fingers wrap around his cock Hux can only moan, his eyes squeezing shut. How different it is, to feel the touch another hand besides his own. Kylo is not gentle with him, teetering on the knife-edge of too much, but still Hux doesn’t care. He simply groans and sighs and bucks his hips, feeling sensation building in the pit of his stomach.

As he starts to become louder and loud, Kylo’s hand stops moving, and instead presses to Hux’s stomach. The feeling in Hux’s stomach disappears as quickly as it had built up, and Hux tugs at Kylo’s hair with a scowl:

“What was that for?”

“You were going to finish without me.” Kylo licks his way into Hux’s mouth, who retaliates with a sharp bite to his lower lip. “You’re _selfish_.”

At that, Hux grabs at Kylo; and there is a _lot_ of him. He starts slowly, going by the best of his knowledge, twisting and tightening while Kylo shudders above him, dropping his forehead to Hux’s shoulder. “Fuck, Hux,” Kylo breathes, and Hux’s cock twitches at the sound.

He keeps going. But as Kylo begins to shake, he feels his hand get batted away, only for one of Kylo’s broad palms to wrap around both of their cocks. He must have spat onto his hand, for the fresh glide of his palm has Hux gasping and digging his nails deeper into his back, feeling lines start to form under his fingers. It’s hot, so _hot_ …

He comes gasping, feeling himself splatter up onto his stomach. Ren reaches the edge with him, his body draping over Hux’s, covering him,, the mess between them shifting and sliding. For the next few moments, they are both quiet, their slowing breathing and the faint rustle of the wind in the trees the only sounds.

Hux moves first. He reaches for the remains of his shirt, finding the strip he’d torn off with the intention of bandaging his chest with it; instead, he uses it to wipe the mess from their skin. Kylo slides off of him, but remains close. Hux wouldn’t have cared if he’d decided to lie on top of him for the rest of his days, if only he hadn’t been so heavy.

“Ignis,” Kylo murmurs, nosing at Hux’s hair as his fingers trail over his stomach, his chest, briefly up to his throat. They press the mark his teeth left, and Hux hisses, digging his nails into Kylo’s thick thigh. This earns him a splutter of laughter. “Feisty. You lacked that spark, before.” Soft lips press to his cheek, and when Hux turns his head he meets the dark amber of Kylo’s eyes.

“We’ll have to move, soon. I doubt this area will be safe for very long, especially with what just–”

“Hush.” Kylo gathers Hux up as easily as if he weighed nothing at all, pressing his face into the top of his head. Hux pauses, slightly startled, before cautiously tucking himself into the warmth of Kylo’s body. “That’s for tomorrow. Rest, first..”

And for once, Hux listens, and rests.

  



	3. Ardor

The view from the palace balcony is something that Hux can’t help but enjoy. As a child he did rather enjoy climbing the tallest trees in the forest, using them as a vantage point to see the cottage, the village, the rest of the forest as it spread off to the north and the west. Now he has more to see than a few mud houses squatting in a clearing. The city gleams below him like the polished marble of his throne room. If he uses his telescope, he can see the lakes, rolling pastures, and pine forests in the distance, but he cares little for them. Besides the timber they bring, he doesn’t need them, either.

The south is so much more appealing to him than the north, whence he hails. They care so little for the actions of Ignis here. They’re seen as useful rather than dangerous, and it’s this which has benefitted Hux the most since his rise through the ranks all those years ago. It would be a decade next spring, and his lips curl into a faint smile at the thought.

He taps his fingers on the balustrade, only to turn his head slightly at the sound of robes swishing across  the stone floor behind him. It’s Sloane. Hux’s lips almost quirk into a smile at her presence. He turns all the way round, giving her his full attention.

It was one of the first things Hux did, once he gained the position he now holds. The kingdom had recognized Sloane from the time of the first rebellion, when the kingdom had been split in two by the battle between elemental and mortal. Sloane had been a force to be reckoned with, then, and not much had changed since. She’d only left court once she became aware of Hux’s birth. He had needed to do little to to convince the royal court that they needed her back.

Hux had found her in some dank cavern near Brendol’s hunting lodge, after his own informants had finally given him some useful information regarding her location. He’d initially been tracking Brendol’s movements, with a hope that one day he might find some more intelligence as to some weak flank of the man’s retinue. Instead, they’d found Sloane.

There had been few people residing in the lodge at the time, some kind of hunting party given the run of the place for the season and only a handful of guards keeping Sloane. With Kylo bearing a sword at his side, Hux had torched the place himself, pulling Sloane from the still-burning wreckage. She was thin and bony, but in the chaos she’d ripped out the throat of her guard with her own teeth: Hux greeted her with blood still on her chin. Even weakened, she was truly formidable, and Hux had found it some fierce comfort to have her around, even if she hadn’t allowed his new title to go to his head.

A cool breeze washes over the balcony and Hux becomes aware of footsteps behind him.

“General.” Sloane stops, nods her head once: the only show of deference Hux gets from her. She is an admiral; they’re practically equals now. “Kylo Ren has returned. I believed you would like to be the first to know.”

“I am,” Hux hums, stepping away from the balcony to her side. They set out from ****the room walking shoulder to shoulder, as they are so used to doing. “The intelligence?”

“Brendol has moved some troops to the west. Protecting the mines there, but also taking of the resistance in that area.” Sloane’s lips twitch. “There have been more Coals than usual, this year. Fewer of his soldiers to destroy them, but more Ignis content to go feral because of his rule.”

Hux purses his lips at that. Coals were a problem for everyone, even if his side of the battle had a greater chance of survival when dealing with them.  “I suppose they’re enough of a threat to Brendol that he deems more troops necessary. They should be withdrawing more from the border to deal with them” Hux nods to himself, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. He should be paying more attention to what Sloane is saying, but he’s not doing a very good job of it. With Kylo returning...It’s been far too long. He becomes aware of the fact that Sloane has fallen silent, and he looks up, seeming to blink himself back into the present. “Thank you, Sloane. I will read the rest of Kylo’s report later, after I’ve seen him.”

“Hm. What has it been, now: three months?” Hux can hear the smirk in her voice. “I can’t help but think there are a multitude of reasons why you would like some time alone with him.”

Hux glares at her, knowing she’s only teasing.. She wouldn’t be Sloane if she let well enough alone.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

When he and Sloane part, it’s not much longer to reach Kylo. Hux guesses that he’s in his quarters already, and is pleased to be proven right when he pushes open the grand doors, already feeling a breeze moving through the open rooms. The curtains over the great windows billow into the room, and when Hux comes to a halt he can see Kylo, armour already shucked off and his underclothes – what little there are of those – almost mimicking the curtains.

Hux’s lips twitch up. “Lord Ren. Hardly suitable attire for when addressing a General,” he says, which catches Kylo’s attention.

Kylo turns, already smiling, crossing the room as Hux does. When they meet in the middle of the room and embrace there’s a brief silence, a moment when they are both, above all, relieved to be back together. Hux can practically feel Kylo recharging in his arms, his flame that little bit brighter for being near him.

“For a partner, I would have thought less is more,” Kylo rumbles, the sound reverberating in Hux’s chest where they’re pressed together. When Kylo pulls back from their embrace, their hands remain on each other’s forearms, and Hux’s gaze is steady as he looks up at his lover.

“Naturally,” he hums, lifting his fingers to Kylo’s lips. “You’ve got a new scar.”

“Sword. Could have taken my head off, if I hadn’t turned its wielder’s leg into kindling beforehand.” Kylo tilts his head into Hux’s touch, and before he can say anything Kylo’s fingertips disappear into his mouth.

Hux smirks, crooking his fingers.“Savage.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything in return, only crowds closer to Hux, and when his fingers slip from his mouth he leans down to put it to better use, pressing his lips against Hux’s throat. The soft sound that leaves Hux is complacent even as his fingers tighten over Kylo’s forearms, feeling muscle and sinew shift under his grasp.

“Let me take you to bed, General,” Kylo all but purrs against his throat, teeth catching at his skin.

“In the middle of the day?”

“Everyone is sleeping now anyway.” Kylo laves his tongue this time. “Come. It’s too hot to do anything else.”

“What about your report?”

Kylo presses his broad thigh between Hux’s legs, pushing up. “Later.”

Hux doesn’t need to be further convinced. The buckles on the front of his uniform come undone easily under Kylo’s hands, after so many years of practice. His cloak is carefully hung on a chair, the rest of his uniform left in pieces on the way to the bed, until Hux is even more undressed than Kylo. He’s right; it _is_ too hot to do anything but this.

Even with the ocean breeze through the curtains, Hux can feel sweat beginning to bead along his forehead, the back of his neck as Kylo lays him down and pins his body to the sheets, the cotton cool against his body. He’s so slow and attentive that Hux doesn’t realise he’s writhing on the bed until his cock is pressed up into the other’s belly, and when Kylo touches him just so, Hux lets out a breathy sound, eyes falling shut in bliss.

“Missed you,” Kylo murmurs into his ear. He leans back and the soft clink of a bottle sounds against their nightstand. Hux sighs, opening his eyes to see Kylo reaching behind himself.. His lips part so beautifully in the first moan, the new scar almost unnoticeable amidst the fullness of his mouth, the twin spots of colour that have formed high on his cheeks.

Hux wraps his fingers around Kylo’s cock, stroking slow and lazy strokes as he props his head up on his other arm, lips curling up.“I’m not surprised,” he hums back, rubbing his thumb over the slit of Kylo’s cock and feeling Kylo’s thighs tense either side of him. He sees and hears the moan as it passes his lover’s lips, and, smiling, keeps touching him. When Kylo gets to be shaking a little too much, Hux stills his fingers, letting them slide along the other’s taut thigh. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, just…” Kylo’s brow is somewhat furrowed as he replies, but Hux doesn’t have to wait long. He hisses as Kylo slicks him, almost too roughly, before settling over his hips and lowering himself. He’s almost too hot, almost too heavy, but pleasure knocks the air from Hux’s lungs as Kylo seats himself fully. He’s still a touch tight: Hux’s fingers to press into his thighs, marvelling at the bulk, the feel of him.

“Move, darling.” Hux’s voice is low. He watches as Kylo lifts himself, face lax as his thighs strain, and then drops back down again. The sudden motion forces the air out of both of them in tight gasps, and Hux digs in his nails. “Again.”

Kylo moves faster, one hand pressed to the headboard of the bed and the other to Hux’s chest, fingers spread so wide Hux wouldn’t be surprised if they covered him entirely. Hux is always the loudest at this part; he sighs and moans like a whore, praise for Kylo slipping so naturally from his lips:

“Beautiful, my beautiful…so tight for me.”

Kylo does gasp at that, but mainly because of Hux’s nails in his ass, causing him to clench deliciously around him. Hux grins, planting his feet to push up into Kylo. When Hux first kicks his hips up Kylo stills, his thighs shaking with effort. Hux can see sweat beading on his forehead, and he smiles as he begins to thrust.

It doesn’t take Kylo long to get close to the edge, and when Hux can feel him start to twitch he wraps his hand around his cock, squeezing and stroking, soft words coaxing him to spill over his chest. And spill he does: as always, Hux is slightly amused as his chest is covered while Kylo moans and shakes. Hux follows quietly, his lips parted and eyes closed, and then he sinks back down onto the bed, sated. Kylo is a dead weight atop him at this point, but  Hux can’t deny him what he wants as his lips smudge up his throat to his mouth in a facsimile of a kiss. “Too hot,” Hux mutters into his mouth. Kylo hums and slides his hands down Hux’s sides before obediently and gingerly sliding himself off and collapsing onto the bed beside him.

“You don’t get too hot,” he murmurs, keeping himself so close to Hux that for a moment it feels as though they’re the only two in the universe..

Hux sighs a laugh and turns to look at him, brows quirked: “Do I get my report now?”  

Kylo to laughs, too, and rolls back a little, pushing his hair from his face.“There’ve been few uprisings, close to Brendol’s city. He’s almost out of reserves; if we send more funding to the rebels, they’ll have him hanging from the battlements in a month or two.” Kylo reaches behind himself, and then there’s a towel wiping away at Hux’s stomach and chest, cleaning the mess from his skin.

Hux slides his fingers through his own hair and then reaches for his own nightstand, grasping for his carton of cigarillos. They’re possibly the finest he’s ever had: only the best for a general. He lights one with a press of his fingertip, and inhales deeply, waiting for Kylo to go on once he’s finished cleaning them up..

“As for what what you asked me to…investigate –” Kylo’s fingers pause, and Hux lifts his gaze to his face: he seems troubled, unsure how to proceed.

“The rumour from the west?” Hux sits up a little. “So? Did you find anything?”

“Yes, and no. I went alone, just in case it was something that could kill mortals.” Kylo pauses, reaching over and plucking the cigarillo from Hux’s fingertips, taking a drag himself. Hux says nothing.

“There was... _something._ It’s old, Hux, very old. And powerful. It said that there were things that I – that _we_ could do. Things to make our powers stronger.”

He taps ash onto the towel, and Hux takes the cigarillo back, mulling over Kylo’s words. It’s an interesting proposal, and if he wasn’t so satisfied with the current state of affairs in the kingdom now he might consider running his own mission there. But he is already quite powerful; once Brendol was dead, there would be no qualms as to who took the throne. Brendol has no children; with the support of so many Elementals, what would stop an Ignis – even a bastard – from taking the throne?

“What kind of things?” Hux asks, and Kylo gives him a look:

“You don’t think we should…avoid this?”

“Why?” Hux turns his head, raising his brows. “If it doesn’t require not utter debasement, it’s always advantageous to have more power. Sloane taught me what she could, I’ve learned from a few other Igni in the palace, but there aren’t many of us. Fewer still who have a Guardian.” Hux strokes his hand down Kylo’s thigh at that, his thumb brushing over an old scar. A stray halberd that one, and despite it’s ragged appearance, it had barely cause Kylo any trouble. He’d used the same halberd to dispatch of the person who’d given him the wound. “Something as old as you say surely has a great deal of knowledge.”

“Well, yes, but...I didn’t like being in its presence.” Kylo’s face twists; Hux recognizes the look. “Sloane wouldn’t, either. She knows things like that. She’s…against them.”

“She’s against certain dealings because her Enera would strip her of her powers if she became involved with them.,” Hux taps ash onto the towel, his lip curling somewhat as he does: the towel will be ruined now, but Kylo started it. “But the goddess has an _understanding_ with most of us Igni.”

Kylo looks at Hux for a moment, inscrutable, before sighing  and nestling closer, nosing up his neck. “Just so you know, I think it’s a bad idea.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Hux hums, feeling Kylo smile against his skin. “When was the last time you hung back before charging into battle?”

“Battle, I know I can do. This is…”

“You’re a spirit, so don’t say it’s ‘unnatural.’”

“Not unnatural. Arcane. Beyond what we are.” Kylo thinks for a moment. “Eldritch, even.”

“Yet you walked away from it – whatever it is – and I see no signs of possession nor corruption. Not to mention how you brought this information to me willingly.” Hux rubs at Kylo’s thigh again and breathes the last of the cigarillo, pressing it out on the towel and wrapping the whole thing up before dropping it onto the marble floor. “I will go back with you, in a week. We’ll see for ourselves what this is, with both of us present, and then see what happens.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything, but his arm does wind around Hux’s waist, tugging him closer to his body despite the heat of the day – acquiescence, perhaps. Hux lets himself be drawn closer, and dozes off to the solidity of Kylo’s body behind him.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux had forgotten how cold the woods can be – at least for those without fire running through their veins. Away from the sea, away from the sun, with a cold mist hanging about the pines, it’s bitterly cold for the soldiers who have accompanied Hux and Kylo on their journey. Hux himself is fine with nothing more than a cloak over his uniform, and Kylo, as ever, is wrapped in layers, his feathered black cloak making him look like some kind of sullen raven. In the weather, his hair lies a touch flatter than usual, sodden with the mist and the near-constant drizzle. But despite the weather Hux is in remarkably good spirits. He pulls his horse a bit closer to Kylo to draw his attention:

“You should look a little more excited. The soldiers look to you for inspiration.” He glances back. Sure enough, the soldiers are looking a touch downtrodden, mud flecked up their horses’ legs and their boots covered in it. Hux only took a small detachment, so as not to arouse any suspicions, just enough so they could all have a mount, but every one of the few men seem to be in low spirits. “We’ll be there soon, yes?”

Kylo grunts an affirmative, straightening his shoulders a little as if he’s just remembered. “An hour or two down this road, then we go off into the forest. I remember the way,”

“Then there’s no need to look the way you do. We will go in, talk, and then leave. I will come to any conclusions back at the palace.” Hux pulls his horse away a little, urging the mare into a trot. The rest of the party all seem to perk up at the sudden change in pace, and Hux is grateful for it. He doesn’t need soldiers half-asleep on their horses, in case they run into trouble. The weather would make it difficult for a Coal to survive here, but Hux wouldn’t put it past a nymph or a caeli to leap out at them.

Within the hour or so that Kylo had estimated, they dismount, leading their horses through a deer path barely big enough for Hux, let alone his horse. The undergrowth is thick, and he can feel his cloak running through the mud. For once, Hux is glad he hadn’t worn his white regalia, letting Kylo choose his clothing instead: an ensemble all in much-more-sensible black.. If he had been in white, the stains never would have come out, but even in black the mud is an annoyance;. Hux gathers his cloak up as he walks, in silence, until he sees Kylo come to a halt in a small clearing before them.

At the edge of the clearing is a cave, its dark maw looking even darker in the dim light of the forest. Hux feels his mare shy and take a few steps back. He calms her, glancing back at the soldiers. They seem nervous too, filtering into the clearing and staying back away from the mouth of the cave, shuffling their feet amidst the moss and brambles. Hux rolls his eyes and tethers his horse to a tree.

“Do you still have some of that firewood?” he asks of the soldiers. They seem to take his surety into account, and start to dismount and tie up their own horses.

“Yes, sir.” Another soldier steps forward, kicking away moss until she finds a fairly dry patch of ground, setting out a few twigs of kindling inside a larger mound of logs. In weather like this, Hux likes to plan ahead. He ungloves one hand and slides it into the carefully arranged pyramid of wood and keeping it there until a flame billows. It’s small, for now, but Hux doesn’t want to draw too much attention.

“Stay, and warm yourselves. Give the horses a rubdown, but keep them ready. We shouldn’t be long.” Hux tugs his glove back on, turning to Kylo. He’s expecting him to be looking at him, awaiting orders, but instead Kylo is…staring. Straight at the cave. When Hux touches his arm, Kylo blinks and seems to come back to himself.

“Are we going?”

“Yes.” Hux steps over a fallen log and towards the cave. Kylo is following him, if his loud footsteps are anything to go by. They enter: after a moment or two, it’s pitch black. Hux curses, removing his glove once again and lifting his hand, hearing Kylo do the same behind him. Twin flames appear, and Hux watches as they illuminate the cave. Faintly, he can hear the trickle of water.

They travel for a while, going deeper, until Hux’s flame falters for a moment. He pauses, his brow furrowing. Both their flames go out., When Hux exhales, he can just barely see a cloud of fog in front of him. He’s so _cold_. Hux wraps both arms around his chest, and feels Kylo’s hand on his back.

“This happened to me, too. I didn’t…I didn’t think it would do the same to you,” he hears Kylo murmur.

As Hux’s eyes start to adjust, he sees something glowing blue-white from the walls. He would have called it magic if he hadn’t learned about mosses and fungi, the kinds of things that could produce light themselves. It is a brand of magic, in itself, and Hux is glad of it when he can’t even summon a spark to his fingers. He feels it, then: the sense of eyes weighing down on him. Maybe that was what the soldiers had felt outside. Hux shakes his head, and continues to walk, feeling Kylo keep in step just behind him.

“Not much farther,” Kylo says, as Hux turns a corner and feels the air freeze around him. They’re in a chamber, bigger than he would have thought, with the glowing lines spider-webbing across the walls and the ceiling. It’s a decent light, but Hux can’t help but feel as though it’s sucking the warmth from him. He shivers, his teeth chattering for a moment. Then there’s another weight about his shoulders, and Hux feels the tickle of feathers about his neck.

“I don’t need it,” Kylo mutters, and when Hux looks at him, he wonders if he’s lying or not. He’s not shivering, but the light of the room gives his face an unhealthy pallor.

“Armitage Hux.”

The voice makes Hux’s head jerk around. Immediately, he sees the source of the sound: a figure, draped in black, sat in what could only be referred to as a throne. It’s jagged, made of black rock, and the light doesn’t touch it, almost as if it wouldn’t dare. The stone looked damp in the light, and Hux’s throat constricted the longer he looked at it. But he didn’t baulk, instead standing that much taller and taking a few steps into the chamber.

“And you are?” His voice doesn’t waver, thankfully, even when the idea of speaking to this creature fills him with trepidation.

“An interested party.” The figure’s voice rasps, sounding like ice shattering. “Kylo Ren. We meet again.”

To his credit, Kylo stays quiet, and Hux moves ever closer. He cuts straight to the point: “Kylo tells me you have things to offer. But from what he has said, they’re not the kinds of things given…lightly.”

The figure shakes its head. “No. They are not.”

A brief silence ensues, and Hux can feel himself getting impatient. He isn’t one for cryptic answers.

“What kind of power do you offer?” he asks bluntly.

The figure is silent for a little longer, before it reaches out with one arm. Its bare hand is white, old, and Hux stares at the cracked nails as they point at him. “The power you seek. You wish to take your throne, but I know that is not all you desire.”

Hux stares, and feels Kylo’s eyes turn to him.

“An empire. You as emperor. Bringing order to the chaos of the kingdoms, peace to the endless conflict of elemental over mortal.” A thin laugh. “You once considered dominion over them. And why shouldn’t you? They are but flies to what you are. Useless little creatures.”

Hux stares, and feels his heart beat faster. “Who are you to say what I desire?”

“I have seen it,” the strange voice hisses, and the cold gets worse. Hux clutches his chest, drops to his knees. When Kylo doesn’t move to help him, Hux stares up, his gaze hurt and confused.

But Kylo seems…frozen. Unable to move. Hux’s throat tightens again, and only when he has been silent for some time does the constriction lessen.  Kylo blinks, once again coming back to himself. He lowers himself, catching Hux’s arm and pulling him up, his fingers warm. He wants to laugh at that; Kylo is never warmer than him.

“General.”

Hux turns his head to the creature again, seeing it has dropped its arm, the white skin disappearing back until the cloak.

“I can aid you in this venture. There’s but one thing I request, for now.”

Hux feels Kylo tense by his side.

“What is that?”

The creature’s hand reappears, and light seems to focus in the middle of the room, onto a structure that Hux has not seen before. It’s black, shaped like a table, with grooves hewn into the black stone. There’s something even darker on its surface, and when Hux moves to take a step forwards Kylo’s fingers tighten about his arm, keeping him in place.

“Tribute.” The creature sounds pleased. “Power for power. Elemental for elemental. Blood for blood.”

The light intensifies, just slightly, and Hux sees an obsidian blade, refined in a way that seems like a bastardization of the weapon he used to draw his own blood those many years ago. It looks unnatural, and wrong. He can almost feel the power singing from it.

“For each tribute you bring, your power will increase.” Although the figure, the _thing,_ stays where it is, Hux knows it is smiling “I will let you consider my proposal. But I won’t wait forever, Emperor.”

Hux’s mouth is dry. Kylo tugs on his arm, and when he blinks he sees nothing in the room except for the jagged throne and the table. The blade has vanished. Hux can breathe again, but he still presses close to Kylo for a moment, able to see his breath as it pours from his lungs.

“I need to get outside.” He turns, and Kylo is there beside him.

“We don’t need to come back.” Kylo shakes his head. “I knew there was something wrong, something so _wrong_ about it, to ask for elementals in exchange –”“

“I just need to get out,” Hux insists., Obediently, Kylo turns, and Hux follows him out. Hux wonders if he’s noticed: that Hux hasn’t ruled it out..

Not yet.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux spends his time considering the creature’s offer. It’s a tempting one, no doubt, but kings in fairytales are so often won over with lies of riches and power. He will think this through, and he was come to a conclusion later. It only takes him a matter of months to come to his ultimate decision, and even if he is aware of the risks - the creature’s unknown power, or lack of it, the chance he would be discovered by the crown itself - he knows what he wants. And what Brendol deserves.

Kylo doesn’t seem to notice anything astray, at first. The first person to go missing is a caeli, a free spirit who ran a small artist’s studio in the merchant’s region of the city. It takes a few weeks for anyone to even notice he’s gone, and when Hux sees the report on the city guard’s desk, he thinks nothing of it. They won’t find anything, of course. A consolement fee is sent to his long-suffering assistant, and that is all.

The next is a terra, taken from where she had been working on the docks. Labelled missing, but tentatively so. She came from a family of aqua, and always seemed out of place. Her parents simply wished to know if she was found, but it was never formally recognized as a missing person.

A few more disappear over the course of the next few months. They’re never important, but Kylo notices. He brings it to superiors, to Hux, to anyone he thinks would care. It isn’t Hux’s area of expertise, but Kylo thinks if anyone cares about the disappearance of elementals, it would be Hux. He does care; he sends Kylo’s own detachment out multiple times, instead of using them for their intended purposes of infiltration and covert operations. The Knights are useful in that regard, and Hux is glad that the king allowed such expert warriors to be left in Kylo’s care. He appreciates them, and Kylo’s unwavering support of his own actions.

Nothing is found.

Eventually one of them is in discovered, a caeli found chained up in a basement. Her ex-lover was declared guilty, and Kylo was present with Hux while the man was imprisoned, all but dragged from the courthouse in protest. _I didn’t do it_. Kylo had hummed a laugh and folded his arms over his chest, and Hux had listened as he had scoffed and called the man a fool for believing that he could escape from his crimes.

This continues for a while, until it’s been almost a year since their meeting with the creature in the cave. Hux seems colder. He’s quicker to anger, easier to frustrate, and he smokes much more. Once, with cigarillo in hand, he found a flame didn’t flicker up from his finger as he was so used to. Hux had stared at his finger for sometime, and only Kylo’s entrance into his office had him stop, reaching under his desk for the ornate - yet essentially useless - lighter that he had received as a curiosity a few months ago. Judging from the look on Kylo’s face when he sees him use it, the man isn’t sure what to think of that.

Kylo appears to feel much better away from the creature, and it’s evidenced in his vitality. He burns brighter than ever before, his shared power with Hux coming more easily to his fingertips, burning through his whole body as he destroys all that stand in his way. It’s incredible, and Hux can’t deny it. Kylo is...incredible. He can do all Hux once could; light entire candelabras with a wave of one hand, or pick off the moths that bumble their way in from the cool evenings in search of light. Hux enjoys his warmth more than ever, on those cool nights. He’s taken to wearing an extra layer to bed, just in case.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux disappears one night. Kylo spends a fair few nights away from the Hux and the palace respectively, but it’s the first time that Hux disappears while he’s present. Hux doesn’t doubt that Kylo will stay asleep, given the way he snores into the mattress on some nights. He comes back from his missions exhausted, and despite Hux’s usual complaints about his lack of energy, tonight it’s a blessing. It allows Hux to dress himself quietly and slip out of the room, his feet quiet on the marble halls. It’s so quiet this late at night, that he all but tiptoes, as if he’s afraid someone will discover him. No-one will. He’s been far too careful, far too thorough. Even so, he almost jumps when he sees a pair of palace guards wandering up the corridor, talking amiably to themselves. They nod out of respect, and continue on their way. Hux moves quicker after that, down the winding staircase to the stables. As he’s asked, his mare is saddled and ready for him. She champs at the bit as he hoists himself into the saddle, setting them off into the dimly lit city.

 The places Hux has been keeping them aren’t terribly uncomfortable. They have plumbing, lights,  comfortable beds, and anyway he only needs them to stay there for a few days. He has to get them out of the city before those few days, before a formal search can take place.

When Hux pulls his horse up, the Knights are already there, dressed in black cloaks and masks and standing by their horses, all of a similar hue. Hux swings himself out of the saddle, looking at them. They’ve come from the different houses across the districts, from the richer merchant district to the poorest residential area in the city. Each of them has a figure on the back of their horses, swaddled in dark fabric. No one needs to know what they’re carrying from this city.

“I see we are all here on time – or, mostly all.” Hux rubs his gloved hands together and then pauses, turning his head to the house. As if on cue, one more Knight emerges, something over their shoulder. Hux makes an understanding sound and steadies his horse, watching as the Knight lashes the bundle to the back of Hux’s saddle, making sure it’s secure before stepping away again.

“Same as usual. Follow me. If we are discovered, kill those who stand in our way.” Hux flexes his fingers. “I will do what I can. But I understand that I am not alone in this group.” There’s a breath of wind that tugs at his clothing, and Hux feels a faint rumble in the earth beneath his boots. “Good.” He pulls himself into the saddle, his horse tugging at the bit and stamping her feet. “Onwards. We’ve a long ride.”

“What about Kylo Ren?” one of the Knights asks; it’s unclear which one.

Hux pauses, feeling torn, if only for a moment. .“Have you not seen his actions as of late?”

The Knights nod.

“He’s growing more powerful with each trip we make. And soon, that will show in my own abilities. We just need to use the creature for a little bit longer.” Hux pats his side. “I have on record that we require only one more trip after this one. Then we will be done, and the Empire will be born from us.” Hux tips his chin up, his eyes meeting each and every set trained on him. “For the Empire. For the Order.”

The Knights all draw themselves up, their fists going to their chests. “For the Empire. For the Order.”

Hux turns his horse, and they start down the path towards the forest. An eighth rider waits just long enough before trailing after the party.

Just as Hux had predicted, the cavern is freezing; he sees his breath before he even enters, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. If he had come during the day it might have been warmer, but then he would run the risk of being spotted. It’s by the dead of night, or not at all.

He turns his head to the Knights gathered behind him, and sees another breath  illuminated by the light of the moon. They’ve already gathered enough wood for a fire, and once it’s burning solidly they rise, a figure to each Knight as they disappear down into the cave. Hux lifts his hand, and with great effort conjures a flame. It’s weak, but gives enough light for everyone to see where they’re placing the feet on the uneven floor of the cavern. Hux takes the lead, the largest Knight following him with two figures on his back.

The deeper they go, the colder it gets, and soon Hux’s teeth are chattering together. He clenches his jaw and forges on, until they’re at the mouth of the last chamber of the cavern. He steps in first, and without a word the Knights follow him, arranging the figures near the large stone altar in the centre. The creature is there already, and if the Knights are afraid of it, they do not show it. They are swift, methodical, and then they take their leave. One gives Hux a look through their visor as they pass him, but Hux stares on, his eyes locked on the pale creature on its throne.

“How much longer am I to expect such pathetic results as this?” Hux says once they’re alone, his hand lifting for one last push of flame before he drops it. The walls glow back to life, and everything is bathed in their sickly greenish light. “My Guardian is thriving, and yet I, his source, am not.”

“Patience is a virtue,” the creature rasps, and Hux sneers, stepping towards the first figure. They stir when he bodily lifts them onto the altar, and Hux is aware that most of them will soon be coming too. Not that they’ll be a problem for him.

“I have had patience. What I ask for in return is results.” He rolls his head on his neck, preparing himself, before looking up at the single column of moonlight illuminating the cavern. He blinks, and the blade is there. It appears as it always does, dimly glinting in the light. Hux often wonders whether it is self-cleaning, due to the blood that usually cakes it from blade to handle once he’s done. He rolls up both sleeves and grasps the handle, feeling the cold power flow through his forearm.

“Begin,” the creature says, and Hux does.

He pushes the caeli down and holds their throat, feeling them struggle against him. He’s weak. He’s been weak for so long, but he won’t be after this. He’s spent so long with this creature, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get the payoff at the end. This…this is where he’ll make himself.

“Well?”

Hux looks up, his eyes jerking away from the caeli.

“Do it.” The creature narrows its eyes and scowls. “You’re wasting time.”

“I’ve brought five today. Two more than any other time,” Hux replies, his upper lip quirking. He _hates_ this creature, what it’s making him do. But once he’s finished here, he’ll burn the entire cave to ash. He won’t risk such a creature getting out into his kingdom.

 _Mine_ Once he’s wrested rule from his father. _Soon._

“I’ve been doing this for almost an hour.”

“You could have been finished by now, _General_ ,” the creature rasps, and Hux has to resist the urge to hurl an insult at it. Just a few more trips, and he’ll be done. _Mine. Soon._

He looks down at the struggling caeli, gasping for breath, and feels his lips quirk up. How achingly ironic. They have power over the air, but not right now. It’s almost enough to make him drop the knife and finish it with his hands, but he knows he shouldn’t; the knife needs blood, after all.

The knife sinks in as easily as the last few times. Soon enough the caeli begins to choke on their own blood. Hux can’t see their face, but almost wishes he could, just so that they could see who had killed them. _Staunch protector of Elementals indeed._

He withdraws the knife and steps back, watching the caeli twitch and splutter until finally they go still. The grooves and crude carvings upon the altar seem to glow dimly, a facsimile of the glowing walls, and Hux watches as the blood moves unnaturally, draining away from the dead caeli and rushing towards the throne. The creature shifts and sighs as Hux lifts the knife above the altar. When he takes his hand away, it stays in place, as if fixed by an invisible force, and Hux tilts his head just so.

“We’re done here?”

“Yes,” The creature hisses, nodding its head. “For now. The next moon –”

“More will come.” Hux reaches into his pocket for a rag and begins to rub his hands clean. He’ll have to wash them properly later, but this’ll do for now; he almost can’t feel them, anyway. “As they do. And by the perigee…”

“Yes. By the perigee, you will feel it,” It nods again. “It’s a strange thing, for an ignis to draw power from the moon.”

“I was born under the ram’s harvest, in a full moon. I suppose I’m simply an abnormality.” Hux shoves the rag into his pocket and reaches for his clothes. They’re a relief to put on, and once his cloak is safely wrapped around his shoulders he looks back up at the creature. “Five next time. A mixture.”

“Good.” it nods, and waves his hand. “Return to me soon, General. Soon to be King, and then Emperor.”

Hux’s face is stony, even if his heart soars at the acknowledgement. He turns on his heel. He’s barely gotten five feet into the tunnel when something reaches from the darkness and snatches at him, a broad, gloved hand clapped over his mouth and another gripping around his chest. Hux tries to flare up, to press his hands to his captor and burn them for all he’s worth, until he feels something against his chest. He knows that heartbeat. And he knows…

“Kylo,” Hux mumbles into the hand on his mouth, his chest feeling like ice. “I –”

“Outside.” Hux’s heart sinks to his feet. “You’ll explain outside.””

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters up in a couple of days!


	4. Calor

The Knights have already packed their small campsite up by the time Kylo and Hux walk out of the mouth of the cave, Hux still cold and stiff. He can barely move his fingers at this point, even with Kylo so close to him. There’s no offered cloak this time, no Kylo rubbing at his fingers to eke some warmth into them. He does catch Hux’s elbow when he almost trips over his own feet, but drops it once they’re in the clearing. The Knights eye them both, but nothing is said.

“We’re going back to the castle,” Kylo says, before Hux can give a command.

Hux bristles. The Knights do seem to pause, and it is only when Hux (feeling it wise to hold his tongue just now) doesn’t add anything that  they start untying their horses and mounting. Kylo marches over to his own and gets up into the saddle, leaving Hux to do it by himself, which he would have been more than happy to do if he’d had a few minutes by the meagre fire the Knights had made.As it is, it takes him a few tries, his fingers hurting as he finally pulls himself up onto his horse and then slides his gloves over his bloodstained hands. He’ll have to throw the gloves away later, which irked him, but he doesn’t want to risk catching frostbite.

The ride back is slow and painful. Kylo is silent for the duration; Hux sits straight-backed in the saddle and stares at the road, not wanting to talk to him either. He doesn’t know how Kylo found him. He was careful, achingly so. He had hidden for months, and yet now...Hux can’t place it. Not that it matters; Kylo has seen and heard enough. Hux could be sure of that. But whether he understood what he was doing… Hux doubted that. Kylo never _thinks_

Eventually, when he feels a little less like he’s made of ice, Hux pulls his horse up alongside Kylo’s and shoots a look over at him.

“Look at me.”

Kylo doesn’t move his head at first, but Hux sees his fingers tightening around the reins.

“Kylo. Look at me.”

After what feels like an eternity, Kylo’s head turns, and Hux almost wishes he hadn’t. His gaze is fiery, hot and angry and _betrayed_. Hux swallows,  steeling himself.

“I have not become a savage, if that is what you are thinking. Nor am I dabbling in the darker arts. This creature has… something to offer me.” Hux briefly turns his head back to the road, looking between his horse’s ears. “He has power, Kylo. Power he’s willing to give to me. I just need to bring him –”

“Victims.” Kylo’s voice is sharp. “Sacrifices, if you want to think of them as less than human.”

“Coming from the spirit in material form,” Hux replies, and his tone is so nonchalant that it seems to take Kylo aback. They don’t talk about it much: how Kylo is most definitely not of this world, and how if it weren’t for Hux, he wouldn’t even exist. Kylo doesn’t like the dependency it fosters. Hux isn’t meant to use it in arguments.

Kylo is silent once again .Hux restarts. “You have to have felt it. The pool building up inside of you. I’ve seen how much more powerful you’ve become, how much…better you look. You’re meant as a vessel for this sort of thing.” Hux shakes his head. “I have felt it leaving me somewhat, but I know that it’s coming back. I feel as though we’re on the edge of the precipice. All we need is just a little bit more, and then…” Hux looks over at Kylo. “I’m going to storm Brendol’s castle. Single-handedly. I will take it from him, all of it, and then I will return to take the city as well. It’s mine by right.”

Kylo still doesn’t seem at ease, and Hux draws closer, his brows furrowing with intensity. “It’s giving me power, Kylo. It’s what we need. You act as my reservoir, my overspill. You help me from becoming lost in it.” His voice is softer now, and Hux can see how it’s affecting Kylo: he looks even more torn, his gloved hands working over the reins. “I need you, Kylo.” Hux reaches over, and his hand slides down his lover’s arm.

Kylo jerks at the touch as if waking from a trance,, and he looks over at Hux, taking in a breath. “I don’t…” He shakes his head. “We don’t know what it is,” he says, and his horse skitters a little under him. “We have no _idea_ what it is, Hux. Nothing. I don’t… I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if your mother would want this.”

Hux is the one who pulls back this time.

He sits upright, unconsciously angling himself away from Kylo.. He doesn’t need Kylo. He doesn’t need anyone in the world, anymore.His mother is dead, Sloane is useless now, and Kylo…Kylo is a distraction. Something in his way. If Kylo hadn’t had such attitudes towards the missing elementals in the city, Hux could have been finished a lot more quickly. He could have enlisted Kylo’s help. But instead, he didn’t believe it necessary. He had known Kylo’s thoughts about this from the start; he’d been worried for him. He thought they were out of the danger, that Hux no longer had thoughts of employing a sinister creature to aid him in his revenge. Hux...hadn’t wanted Kylo involved. That thought makes his throat feel thick for a moment, and he presses his lips together, hands tight on the reins.

“You don’t know what she would have wanted,” he says at last. “She would have wanted me to burn it to the ground and leave naught but ash behind. Hang Brendol from the battlements and watch as the crows pecked out his eyes.” Hux tilts his head and gives Kylo one last look. “If you’re not with me, you’re against me. Stay out of my way until I am done.”

“Hux –”“ Kylo looks at him, and wrings his hands over his reins.

“I’ve never heard of a Guardian being sent back from where they came, but I’m sure there’s some account of it.” Hux kicks at his horse, and begins to canter down the path. The Knights follow, as if connected to Hux by strings, while Kylo stays behind.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux has been getting weaker. He can feel it in the days that pass, with Kylo away from him. He hadn’t come back to the castle on that day when he had followed Hux to the woods and seen what he was doing. Since then a few people had asked after him, and Hux had given them all the same response: that he was off furthering the General’s interests. In reality, even Hux has no idea where Kylo’s gone.

He only realises just _how_ weak he has become when his temper gets the better of him during a meeting, after Kylo has been gone for months. It’s not a mission, Hux knew that by the third week. Kylo is now...missing. He doesn’t bring it up with anyone. To the military’s knowledge, Kylo Ren is a valuable espionage weapon who is to be discussed little and respected entirely, which includes the topic of his missions. No-one considers it strange.

Hux is discussing strategy with the high command: they have decided that there is no point in taking the eastern shores, which are too heavily guarded by the barbarians that Brendol has shunted from their ancestral lands;  with nothing left to call their own, they’re hardly going to accept invaders. They’re too violent, and despite all Hux does to convince the admirals of this,  they all seem to ignore him in favour of mounting a full frontal attack.

It’s pure madness. Hux can’t believe that no-one seems to understand this. Internally he rages,, and when the meeting finishes and he storms from the war room to his quarters a burst of flame all but explodes from his hand. It prickles up his spine and Hux barely has time to hurl it from a balcony and into the sky. It’s ferocious in its strength and heat: Hux relishes it. It’s so alive, so powerful; he feels strong again; Hux wonders if he’s finally done it, if the creature has given him all he asked. Hux grins and tries again, swinging his arm up and narrowing his eyes at the sky.

He faints on the marble.

When Hux wakes, he’s in the infirmary, blankets tucked about his person. It’s cold, so very cold. He wants to shut all the open windows, close up the gossamer curtains, even when he sees the doctors in their sleeveless tunics mopping their own brows and teasing each other about the heat. The only Ignis amidst the doctors sees Hux, and steps over, a concerned look on their face.

“General? Are you quite all right?”

Hux blinks, slowly, and begins to sit up. “Yes, of course. I’m just…” He shivers, tugging the blankets around me. “It must be a head cold. I was in the north not long ago, I’m not used to the weather…”

“It doesn’t seem like a head cold, sir.” The Ignis lowers their hand, pressing the back of it to Hux’s forehead. It burns, and Hux presses into it. “You’re freezing. And so pale, sir.” Their brow furrows. “Do you know where your Guardian is, General? I believe it would do you some good to spend some time with him. I know the upcoming assault has you worried, sir…”

“It’s just the east. Let them burn it, for all I care,” Hux mutters.

The Ignis blinks. “No, I…not that, sir. The assault on the northern keep. It was decided not two hours ago; the queen has been under far too much pressure from the elementals to ignore what Brendol is doing over there. I thought she was going to tell you?”

Hux stares up, and his efforts to get out of bed are doubled. “No. I was _not_ told. When is this assault taking place? When are troops leaving?” They were going to take the keep. And Hux knew for a fact that they would not kill Brendol. They’d put him in some finely decorated cell and call him a ‘prisoner of war,’ when what he so thoroughly  deserved was to become carrion.

“General, please.” The Ignis gently presses him back down to the bed. “Please. It’s not for a month yet. They’ve kept it quiet, I was only informed a few minutes ago. The rest of the doctors don’t know either.”

Hux relents somewhat at this, pursing his lips and letting himself be pressed back into the bed, cogs already beginning to turn in his head.

“I see.” He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “What else do you know? And how do you know it?”

“That’s all, sir.” The Ignis sits down beside the bed, taking up a cup of some kind of tincture and putting it to Hux’s lips. It’s infantile, but Hux lets it happen, finding the liquid rather warm and quite sweet. “All the elementals in the castle were told, is all. I suppose they’d prefer to let us know, in the hopes of keeping the whole situation calm.” They let out a soft laugh. “Hardly as if any one of us is going to go to the enemy.”

Hux swallows, and gives a nod. “No. Not at all.”

Fifteen days left, and Hux finds the last piece of the puzzle. Kylo is still missing, so far, and with little word from him Hux has found himself caring little, too. He’s delved into his work, staying up late into the night planning battle strategies, filtering through those who will potentially accompany him to the creature. He doesn’t have much time, but if he can find one…one would be all he needed. 

He finds her surprisingly easily. A new recruit from the Southern tribes. Hailed as some kind of ‘holy child,’ blessed by the goddess and the elements themselves. A particularly powerful Ignis, whose Guardian  materialized from the bonfire at her naming ceremony. They’d been together since thene, and Hux doesn’t doubt for a second what that means she’d needed a vessel from the moment she was brought onto the earth.

Hux has to have her.

He finds out what he can. _Rey, the Chosen, the Light:_ titles that make Hux’s throat feel dry. It seems…easy for her. No family;left as a baby on the outskirts of a tribe who now adore and revere her. A Guardian, a _companion_ since she was old enough to open her eyes. Apparently  he looks like a warrior of old, who fought against Brendol in the early years of his tyranny.

Hux hates it all. But he hates Brendol more.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kylo finally returns after just a few more days. And when he does, Hux doesn’t shy away. He sees him coming up the marble steps, and Hux stops, surrounded by his advisors and admirals.

“Kylo.”

He has barely breathed the word before he’s almost leaping down the steps, into the arms of a surprised Kylo, who almost falls back. Hux presses himself close, hiding his face in the other’s neck. He’ll have to put on a convincing show.

After some initial hesitation, Kylo pulls Hux closer, winding his arms around his robes. Hux’s cheek brushes against the fur of his collar.

“I…I’m sorry,” Kylo rumbles after a moment or two, still holding him.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Hux murmurs back, and presses closer for just a moment, exhaling against his shoulder. “You were right. It was foolish of me to go there.”

“Hux.” Kylo actually laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re telling me I’m right, but I suppose…”

Hux leans back, and Kylo smiles as he does so, tipping his head as Hux’s gloved hand pushes up across his cheek and through his hair. “I...was wrong. About it all.” He studies Kylo’s face, and for just a moment it seems that Kylo pauses, searching for something in his eyes.

“Forgive me.” But then they’re warm again, When Hux lifts his arm Kylo is already there to take it. They return to the war party; they can celebrate their reunion later.

 _Later_ comes much more slowly than Hux would have hoped. There are endless meetings, conversations, negotiations. But they can’t be avoided, so throughout it all Kylo sits and waits quietly beside him, looking almost like a crow in a company of doves, all Admirals and Generals in their resplendent white. Kylo’s pleased by his presence; he sits up in his seat a little every time Hux’s eyes cut across to him, and he almost, almost smiles at him. Hux doesn’t smile in meetings, but Hux knows Kylo recognizes an approving look when he sees it. They have nothing to fear, anymore.

When the meetings have finally ended and dinner is sitting warm in both their bellies, it’s Kylo who takes Hux by the gloved hand and leads him from the dining room. Hux, maintaining character, does make some vague complaint about having reports to sign, but it is conveniently  muffled once they’re back in their quarters, Kylo’s lips finding Hux’s mouth. He kisses him and then pauses, for just a moment, leaning back:

“Your lips are cold,”

“Please.” Hux rolls his eyes, but gently.  “I had the wine at dinner. Whites need to be chilled, Ren.”

Kylo hums something in agreement and presses his mouth to Hux’s throat, to the warmth of his pulse.  He drags lips and teeth over hot skin and Hux squirms, a rush of breath leaving him. His body, at least, doesn’t have to act. “ _Ren_.”

Kylo smiles.  “Missed me?” His hands slide down over Hux’s neatly fitted uniform, gloved fingers already plucking at his belt.

Hux responds by tipping his head, catching at Kylo’s lips and pulling him up towards him, gloved hands either side of his face. Kylo smiles against his mouth. “You have.”

“Of course I missed you,” Hux murmurs, fingers sliding through Kylo’s hair. “You’re my Guardian.”

Kylo slides his hands from Hux’s waist to the backs of his thighs, hoisting him up with practiced ease. Hux only needs to cling on to Kylo’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Kylo tips his head to press his face into Hux’s neck. He knows the way to the bed, of course he does, and when he drops Hux down he follows him onto the bed, holding himself as close to him as he can..

“I missed you,” Kylo says again, nosing at the column of Hux’s throat as his slow hands pet at Hux’s hair, across his shoulders and neck.

“Oh, Kylo,” Hux sighs. Kylo glances up at him, and quickly, before he can start to scrutinise his gaze again,  Hux tips his head down; their lips join again. Kylo presses up into the kiss, practiced hands easing Hux’s uniform from his chest, his shoulders.

When Hux has been sufficiently divested, Kylo undoes the buckles and buttons holding his own clothes together, sliding his great furred cloak to the floor as he presses reverent lips to Hux’s bare chest. Hux sighs, arching from the bed, head tilting back into the pillows as he smiles to himself. Kylo makes short work of the rest of his clothing, dropping it irreverently onto the floor. He certainly doesn’t care about it, and if Hux cares in this moment, he certainly doesn’t show it. If anything, he shows quite the opposite. His lips quirk up as he rubs his hand down over Hux’s stomach, wrapping around hot cock and squeezing..

“Tease,” Hux breathes in sharply, arching a little more, but Kylo gives him no quarter. He pushes down with his forearm,, as he drags his hand over Hux’s cock, his thumb rubbing the head.

“I am,” Kylo murmurs, his lips quirking. He surges up, as if he were moving to kiss Hux, and grins as Hux strains unashamedly towards him, a forearm preventing him from going any further.

“Kylo.” It’s almost, almost scolding, with no real sharpness to it but tinged with frustration all the same. It’s been a while, after all. Kylo relents after a moment,and their  tongues and lips meet in a slick, hot slide.

Hux is panting. Kylo squeezes his hand again.. “How long, Hux?”

“You think I’ve…had time?” Hux breathes, tossing his head when his hair falls into his eyes, his hands shifting up from the bed to clasp at Kylo’s face. He holds him close, and Kylo pauses, for just a moment.“You think I’ve wanted to?” He tips his head in, and Kylo stops talking. He ruts against Hux, groaning as his cock  rubs up his thigh.

Hux shivers again and makes to lower one hand towards the pair of them. Kylo all but bats it away, wrapping his own large hand around both of their cocks and stroking. Hux can feel sweat beginning to bead up his spine. It’s still so hot outside, only a little cooler in their rooms.

“Hux,” Kylo chokes out, burying his face in his neck. “Hux, Hux…” It’s all so hot, hot skin under his own, hot fingers around his cock, and it’s all so much. He shakes and gasps softly as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Hux moans with abandon as Kylo’s hands twist into his hair and pull, gripping to him until he falls silent and limp, hot breaths mingling in between them.

Kylo has the sense to drop off to the side, his cock flagging as he drapes one arm over Hux’s chest. It’s far too hot to stay too close, especially for the pair of them, yet Hux makes no effort to move, and Kylo has no intention of doing so. Hux turns his head once he’s regained his breath, and Kylo meets his eyes once he’s aware of them.

“You’re thinking,” Kylo murmurs, dragging his hand down Hux’s arm to pull his wrist towards him, rubbing his lips over his knuckles. “Quite loudly, too.”

“I have a lot to think about.” Hux always has a quick response. It might have seemed curt, but Kylo never has any complaints about such things. If it bothered him, Hux was certain he would never hear the end of it. “Mainly that I’m glad you’re home,”

Kylo snorts and shakes his head a little. “You can hardly think I believe that. You would never say that to me.”

“I just have done, have I not?” Hux brushes his fingers over Kylo’s thumb. “First time for everything. Not to mention there’s a first time for admitting that I was…incorrect.” His nose wrinkles and he sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to the ceiling once again. He’s still stroking Kylo’s thumb. “There’s a lot been happening, recently. I suppose I’m glad that…that I have you. I have some consistency.”

“I’m hardly at the palace, some days,” Kylo hums. He shifts next to him on the bed, but settles once more.

Hux shakes his head a little. “You’re still here. Still you.”

Kylo is quiet for a little while, before he brushes his lips across Hux’s hair, an achingly tender gesture. “The assault on the castle. You’re  happy something is finally happening,”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought…” Kylo stops himself and sighs, pressing himself closer. “I’m happy. There’s something you can do about him.” He kisses Hux’s head. “Something just.”

Hux strokes his finger over one of Kylo’s other knuckles, and falls quiet, satisfied to have played his part.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The next few weeks pass just as Hux wants. It’s terribly easy to get close to Rey, given everything. He’s situated at the head of the assault, of course; why wouldn’t he make good use of that to meet the wonder child of the South? She’s younger than Hux had been expecting, as full of energy as a new-burning fire. Her Guardian is stoic, to an extent, but the moment Rey is around him he seems full of exactly the same excitable energy.

Hux loathes and covets it.

Such power would give him the strength he needs to end Brendol once and for all. He sees it with Rey in the courtyard, where her Guardian – Finn – is hurling plates in the air for her to destroy. It’s showing off in its most basic form, yet no-one seems to feel the same irritation about it as Hux. Quite the contrary, everyone is enjoying the midday fireworks, laughing at every shard that falls to the courtyard. Hux’s attention was drawn to it from an open window he passed, where a plate suddenly exploded at eye level for him. He stops, only to step closer to the window and peek down. There’s quite an audience at this point, with Rey’s eyes gleaming as she balls up her fists, flames roiling around her hands.

“Pull,” she laughs, and Finn even grins as he hurls another plate into the air. For show, no doubt, Rey spins on her heel and punches her fist out behind her, a nimbus of flame turning the plate into nothing but shards. Everyone below laughs, and Hux narrows his eyes. It’s…carefree. She isn’t even acting like she’s going to battle in a few weeks. There’s no apprehension, no fear. He can feel some of it from Finn, certainly, but Rey has an encouraging effect on him that can’t be denied.

Hux starts when he feels fingers slide over his waist. Heis tilts his head up to find Kylo, who has somehow managed to creep up on him. How he managed this with his bulk, Hux will never know.

“Enjoying the fireworks?” Kylo asks, peering out of the window too, as this time a cup is thrown high and demolished.

“It’s childish.” Hux’s lip twitches, a gloved hand flexing by his side. “Her skill is apparent. At this rate she’s not even challenging herself. It’s just…” He huffs and waves his hand dismissively.

At this, Kylo hums, and Hux even sees a smile slip onto his face, daring:

“You’re not much older than her, you know,”

“At least I act according to my age.” Hux turns his head again, hearing more laughter, and sees Finn lifting a rather ornate-looking vase from the pile they’ve managed to acquire. Hux’s temper flares: he pulls himself from Kylo’s grip and leans over the windowsill. “That vase is a hundred years older than you and worth vastly more,” he snaps, his voice carrying sharply on the wind.  

Finn  almost drops the thing, with the rest of the audience turning their heads up to look at Hux. A few faces he recognizes, and they very quickly turn and all but flee. Finn looks chastened, but Rey rests her hands on her hips and looks straight up at Hux, a sheen of sweat visible on her brow and shoulders.

“No one was using it, General. We just thought –”

“You thought incorrectly.” Hux grits his teeth. She was incredibly vital, despite the way she wasted her gifts daily. It would be interesting to see what she could offer him, once the creature was through with her.

“Put it back. And use the straw targets; the kitchens undoubtedly need at least some of those plates.” Hux can feel Kylo behind him, observing, his fingers at Hux’s back.

“Understood, sir,” Finn calls back, and here’s a slight tinge of... _something_ to his voice. Hux meets his eyes, and for just a moment  –less than a heartbeat – he sees it. Hux narrows his eyes. Finn could prove to be a problem, further down the line. For Hux’s plans, this is unacceptable.

Hux pulls back a little from the window once he sees Finn leave with the vase, turning and seeing Kylo staring at him, something peculiar in his gaze. “What?”

“You don’t…they’re younger than us. Children, almost. You don’t have to be so harsh.”

“We’re on the brink of war, Ren.” Hux shakes his head and begins to move past him. “And last I checked, children don’t do well in war.”

A hand catches at his wrist before he goes, and when Hux looks back Kylo seems pensive. “What happened to you? Before…you summoned me?”

Hux baulks for a moment. “I thought you knew.”

“No. I only have...inklings. Flashes of things that you remember, that I get to experience. Something bad happened, before you went to Sloane.”

Hux looks at Kylo for a long, hard moment, all thoughts of Finn and Rey forgotten. He should have taken Kylo with him long ago, to the village. No-one would touch him now, especially if he arrived dressed in the finery of a general, with a sword at his hip and Kylo by his side. He’d be untouchable.

He thinks all this in the space of a few seconds, before looking back up at Kylo, his jaw set. “There’s somewhere I need to show you.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The ride to Loklinn takes about two days from the palace. With hard riding it would take less, but Hux is in no hurry. They have time before the assault on the palace, time before he has to spirit Rey away and take what rightfully should have been his. She has no need for such power. She can’t even use it in the most productive ways. But it’s Hux’s hope that a glimpse into his past will be what Kylo needs to abandon his questioning, to accept the anger that he felt –or at least, that Kylo _believes_ he felt, and now no longer feels burning hot in his chest whenever he so much as thinks of Brendol.

The farther the South falls behind them, the darker it becomes. They pass the deerpath to the creature’s cavern on the way, and if Kylo thinks anything of this, he doesn’t say it. This is fine by Hux: the last thing he needs is to reassure Kylo that he has no further intentions to do with that thing. This would be a lie, and regardless of Hux’s aptitude for lies,  he knows Kylo would still see the truth.

Loklinn is smaller than Hux remembers. Squat, squalid houses, with even the village elder’s so- called ‘mansion’ being nothing more than a larger hut. His own home is empty and bare; when their horses ride past it, Hux turns his head to regard it. It’s been empty for a while, he guesses. Empty and cold. He spurs his mare onwards,  deciding to leave  that for another time. For all he knows, it’s already been picked bare by the lowlifes of the town.

The village square is pathetic. Hux almost can’t believe he once thought it was the hub of civilisation, the centre of his world. A few people leave their houses to gawk at them, muttering and murmuring to themselves; everyone is so small from Hux’s point of view..

Something looms in the corner of his eyes. Hux slows his horse and stops, his breathing catching for just a moment: the stocks. They’re  still there; the heavy oak is burned through, charred to the core. All Hux can do is stare.

He hears the jingle of a bit at his side, and turns his head to see Kylo staring at him, clearly concerned.

“I think you can guess what happened here,” Hux murmurs, softly, his eyes lingering on Kylo for a moment before they return to the stocks. “They took her here. Lashed her. Laughed and jeered at a woman they had all known for years.” He swallows, his throat feeling thick. He won’t react here. He can’t; he has far too much to do. “She burned her way through. Tried to…”

“I can see it.” Kylo draws his horse closer, but doesn’t make a move towards Hux. He appreciates it, especially in front of all of the staring people. “You were small. Hopeful.”

“No.” Hux shakes his head. “I wasn’t. I knew what was going to happen. I simply didn’t act fast enough.” He lifts his gaze from the stocks for just a moment, and spies someone limping across the courtyard: an old, old man in battered armor, perhaps even older than he is. Hux narrows his eyes for a moment, feeling heat rise up in his throat. The man’s right knee is twisted painfully. Hux knows who he is. He glares and glares and stays fixed rigidly where he is, even when Kylo asks what’s the matter. Eventually he follows Hux’s gaze,  and connects the dots from there.

“Him.” Kylo’s voice has heat to it, and Hux relishes it for the moment. “Him. He was the one who –”

“Yes.” Hux straightens his back and urges his horse forwards. The man pays him no heed until Hux draws up his mare in his path, all but forcing him to stare up at him.

“You. What is your name?”

The man pauses for a moment, as if he has no room in his thick head for his name, let alone anything else interesting to say.

“Verral.”

“Verral.” Hux’s voice is laced with quiet fury as he regards him, one hand resting on his sword hilt. “Do you remember me?”

There’s another moment. A few squinted glares against the weak sun, scrutinising him. He must mark the red hair: he recoils. “The king’s bastard. The Ignis …”

“So my infamy precedes me.” Hux sneers. To do something to someone important in this land would be foolish, and the war would begin much earlier than anticipated. But this man was the last thing on Brendol’s mind. “You’re aware of me. A little more frightened of me now, compared to when you last saw me.”

Verral takes a step back, and when he does, Hux slides from the saddle with grace, his hand still resting on his pommel. “Frightened?”

“You ruined my leg,” Verral blurts. “You ruined my blasted life, you little _weasel_. I don’t care what colours you wear now. I’m not –”

Hux tilts his head. “Going to try and kill me, Verral? For the glory of your king?” There’s a crowd, now. Verral’s raised voice has drawn attention, and Hux is glad of it. Plenty of witnesses. He has no qualms with that. “I’d like to see you try,”

Verral eyes Hux’s company – Kylo, looming dark and menacing atop his own horse  – and for a moment Hux sees some sense flash into his eyes. He smiles, graciously, sliding the cloak from his shoulders and draping it over his horse’s back. “No, I will not have him assist me. Your quarrel is with me and me alone, after all. I might be a bastard, but I still have honour.”

Kylo seems confused at this, and Hux flashes him the briefest look before returning his attention to Verral, who clumsily draws his sword from his scabbard. It’s rusty, and almost sticks, but it’s still a lot larger than Hux’s own blade. Not that he matters. He has never trained with a broadsword, after all.

“Come on, then, you pathetic bastard,” Verral spits, and some of it lands on Hux’s boot. “You’re nothing. Leaving your people behind to serve the South, those weak-willed piss drinkers.”

“You were never _my people.”_ Hux springs forwards, and despite his age, Verral manages to lift his blade, catching his sword at just the last moment. The crowd is intrigued, now, with people actively staring and a few muttering to each other. Hux almost grins, to have a willing audience.. He lets himself be pushed back and leaps forwards again, darting around his opponent’s side  and letting his sword clang against his armour. At this point, Hux just wants to toy with him. There’s skill in his swings, but he is rusty with age and misuse. He’s not a threat. If he was, Hux doesn’t doubt for a second that Kylo would have run him through with his own blade as soon as he’d first insulted Hux.

He darts again, out of the way of a particularly savage swing, and laughs, the sound of it cold and sharp in the courtyard. “What is it, old man? Can’t hit the bastard?” He sees sweat starting to bead on the man’s forehead. They’ve barely even gotten into it. Hux moves again, and this time, kicks at Verral's deformed knee. The man falls face first into the mud, and Hux watches him struggle in it, watches him slip and try to get back up. A few villagers shout, but Hux stands back, and theatrically gestures to them all. “I may be a bastard, ladies and gentlemen, but I am not a coward.” He won’t strike him while he’s so vulnerable like that. He has something better in mind

He lets this continue for a while: Verral staggering around, now half-blinded by mud,, as Hux neatly steps and weaves, a cruel smile never leaving his face. It’s far too enjoyable, even if at one point he catches a somewhat disapproving look from Kylo. But what’s there to disapprove of? This man has deserved this all his life. Hux is simply enjoying finally giving it to him.

But at last he feels the game has gone on long enough. Hux lowers his sword; it makes with a sharp sound as it slices through the air. “You murdered my mother,” he says, when Verral's eyes, half-crazed, meet his own. “I’m going to return the favour.”

This time, Hux steps forward to meet Verral's strike, his blade coming down whip-quick. Hux wears him down, advancing and advancing, pushing him back until he sees Verral's back meet the stocks. Hux gives an elegant flick of his blade, and sees as a single stripe of red appears up the side of Verral's face. He cries out, and Hux steps back, lowering his sword. Verral presses a hand up to his face, only to snort a weak, exhausted laugh.

“That’s it? Not going to…to...” Verral seems to be finding it hard to breathe. He struggles for a moment, words and air alike seeming difficult for him to grasp. Hux moves back a few more paces, merely watching now. The man wheezes, catching at his throat with one gloved hand, his sword falling with a wet sound into the mud. It’s pathetic, really, but it’s what he deserves. Blisters boil up around the scratch as Verral gasps for air, staggering forwards and eventually toppling to the ground, his body convulsing.

No one makes a move towards him: Hux has made his position clear. He sheathes his sword as Verral twitches through the final throes, eventually going still and limp. Hux frowns in mock-concern and moves closer, kicking his body face-upwards  with one polished boot. “Ah.” He lifts his head to the rest of the crowd. “It seems my adversary has drowned in the mud. What a shame.” He tips him back over again, hiding the pustules and the greyish tinge that his skin has already taken on, of the blood that has leaked from his eyes like tears. “Far too much ale at the tavern. Such a shame.”

There’s not a sound from the crowd., His work finished, Hux steps away, pulling his cloak back on and swinging himself into the saddle, turning his mare around. Kylo meets his eyes, and Hux straightens his back, staring at him: a challenge, and one that Kylo lets lie, turning away in silence. There’s not a lot to be said. Now, Hux believes, he can return to his home in peace.

“I’ve not seen that before,” is the first thing Kylo says when they are out of earshot of the villagers. HIs tone gives away his shock at it all; there’s little admiration nor smugness at a fight won. Kylo sounds...confused.

“The poison?” Hux hums, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders. “It’s rather rare. I learned about it from His Majesty’s collection of alchemy books on the subject. A combination of nightshade, belladonna, oleander…and a few other things.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I have it on my blade. Hence why I don’t like it when you don’t wear gloves around my sword.”

“I wasn’t talking about the poison.” Kylo shakes his head. “I was talking about…that. What was that? You…played with him. He was an old man, Hux.”

“An old man who killed my mother in his youth.” Hux is cold, now, and he sees Kylo all but shiver at his tone. “Murdered her in cold blood. He would have been content to lash her to the bone and then leave her to die of frostbite. I was the one who ruined his knee, too.”

“You were younger, then.” Kylo’s hands squeeze around his reins, and he shifts uncomfortably in his saddle. “You didn’t know what you could do, the extent of the damage…”

“I wanted to hurt him, so I did. I hurt him so badly that he could never run again.” Hux glances across at Kylo. “I knew then what I wanted to do, Kylo. I simply got to finish the job this time around.”

Kylo falls quiet, seeming to understand that there’s no point in talking with Hux about this now. He’s gotten what he wanted from coming back here. When they come to the edge of the village, Kylo readies himself to start his horse into a canter. Hux looks across at him, and makes a negative sound. “Not right away. Did you see the house we passed, on the way here?”

Kylo pauses, nodding:. “Right on the outskirts?”

Hux nods, and looks over at it, barely visible in the distance.. “That was my home. I want to go back there.”

“Of course,” Kylo murmurs, settling himself back into the saddle. A half-smile crosses his lips.

Hux has succeeded in convincing him, then: he knows Kylo thinks that the creature has been put from Hux’s mind, that he’s trying to – and succeeding in – helping himself come to terms with his past. _What could be better?_ he imagines Kylo thinking, looking at that smile. Hux smiles back. He won’t be the one to disillusion him.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The house is freezing inside, or at least it would have been had Hux not conjured a flame in one hand, warming himself and Kylo as they step across the threshold. The door is broken off of its hinges and must have been that way for a long time; inside, leaves and animal nests abound. Hux wrinkles his nose a little. He feels a broad palm at the small of his back.

“This is where you grew up?”

“Yes.” Hux nods to the cast iron stove, the one thing that hasn’t changed a whit since he left. “My mother would  have me start the fire, most days. But that was all I was allowed to do with my gift.” He steps over to the stove and brushes a gloved hand over it, able to feel how cold it is even through the thick leather. His flesh might have stuck to it if not for the protective layer.

“You have a lot of memories here.” Kylo looks around, moving farther into the house but not past Hux, keeping his distance for the time being. “Good ones. Plenty of good ones. Some…frustration, though, too.”

“I wasn’t allowed to express myself fully. My mother couldn’t risk leaving the region for fear of Brendol coming after her. Hiding under his nose was her only option.” Hux sniffs and moves in farther, climbing the small ladder up to the second floor. The straw that served as their mattress has now rotted away, leaving nothing but the bare wooden  bedframe, and Hux just regards it for a moment. No scrap of blanket, no remnant of sheet. It’s all gone. He can hear Kylo below him, still moving through the ground floor, as Hux sinks down to his knees and sits for a moment, his eyes blank. After a minute or two, he feels a warm hand at the nape of his neck.

To his credit, Kylo doesn’t say anything. He’s silent, and Hux appreciates it, deeply. His mother…he hasn’t given her enough thought. He’s given the idea of vengeance his time, his dedication, and he can’t deny its importance. And yet…

Hux’s throat grows tight and thick. He bows his head, his eyes prickling. Twenty years. And yet it is still so raw. He takes in a shuddery breath before turning his head to the side, angrily brushing at his eyes.

“This is why… why I went to the creature,” he mutters, hearing Kylo settle on his knees him. . “I want to kill him, Kylo. Brendol. I want to destroy him, for what he did. I want to rip him to _shreds_ for what he has done, and let the crows feast on his entrails.”

He finds Kylo’s hand sliding over his, which has balled into a tight, tight fist, smoothing across and relaxing his fingers as warmth is rubbed into the back of his head.“It’s not our decision, ultimately,” Kylo murmurs, even if his tone betrays that he knows this isn’t what Hux wants to hear. “The king has made a decision. Prison, for Brendol and all his associates. The king is a better man than Brendol will ever be.”

“It’s not that difficult to be better than mass executions. Genocide, if you will,” Hux snaps back, which makes Kylo stiffen for a moment. There’s frustration and anger in him for a moment, and then  Hux is taken aback by the slide of arms around his middle, Kylo’s face pressing into his shoulder blades. Hux is still, for just a moment, before he bows his head and closes his eyes. His knees are starting to hurt, he’s cold even with Kylo against his back, and he’s hungry from the ride. But it’s so warming, even comforting, that he can’t help but  stay there. He can accept some comfort, even this deep in his deception. Kylo mustn’t know.

“Brendol will come to justice,” Kylo mutters into his cloak, and Hux inhales raggedly, his eyes filling once again.

_He will. Just not by the hand of the king._


	5. Ambustum

The siege is planned as such: a force larger than any has been seen in the land will march upon Brendol’s keep, armed to the teeth, and will wait upon him for a month, until Brendol is weak enough to be dragged down. With such a force  – and with supplies cut off, the river leading to the keep diverted – Hux doesn’t think they’ll need a month.

He suggested they plan for a week, at most, but he was over-ruled; and it’s this decision that leads him now to the front lines, walking about in the mud as he surveys the area. They have a line of trees between them and the great, open expanse that leads up to Brendol’s keep, squat and dark on top of a gentle hill. It’s ugly as sin, with Brendol’s banners flying from the parapets, and Hux loathes it. If he had the power, he would simply walk straight up to the gate and burn his way through.

Rey does have  that power. But even here, preparing for battle, she still sees it as a game. Plays at target practise with Finn, even as his eyes are more drawn to the keep and Hux himself than anything else: Hux can count now on one hand the amount of times Finn, distracted, has dropped Rey’s targets on himself before she can set them alight. It’s frustrating, but not too worrying. Some people are just cautious of him; Hux isn’t terribly friendly, after all.

The grass and undergrowth that once grew around the trees wears down to mud in just a few grey days of waiting. On the twelfth of these days, Hux sits next to a campfire, glaring over at the keep. He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t react to the sound of his own name, and comes back to life with a start when a broad hand claps down on his shoulder. Kylo’s face appears, and he hums a laugh, coming to sit next to Hux on a log some soldiers had dragged close to the fire.

“You were worlds away.”

“Maybe you should have left me there,” Hux replies, shaking his head a little. He has been sat there for a while; his muscles are cold and sore, and he can barely feel his behind. He shifts, and Kylo moves a little closer, their thighs now touching.

“No. I don’t think so. I think it best that you’re not allowed to wallow right now.” Kylo lifts a hand towards the fire, and Hux sighs, reaching over to take it. It’s cooler than usual, and Hux rubs some warmth into it before letting both his hands fall into his lap again.

“I’m not wallowing. Just pondering.” Hux nods out to the great expanse between them and the keep. “I know he’s inside. Probably still feasting and drinking while his people starve around him. I’ve half a mind to start the assault myself and see who follows.”

“I know one person who would,” Kylo asserts. “Although he would most likely try to drag you back. Or at least make sure you didn’t take an arrow before you got close enough to the keep.”

Hux can’t help but smile at that, and shakes his head before willingly settling himself closer to Ren. His body is nice and warm, and for a moment Hux considers burying his face in the fur of Kylo’s cloak and just resting for a moment. He’s barely slept for the past week and he knows it shows; Sloane gave him a strange look yesterday, and Kylo can’t be too far from putting two and two together. Not that it matters. Hux has his own ideas for the weeks to come. He simply needs to wait a little longer.

“How go the preparations?” Hux asks after a moment, and Kylo sighs, pulling back from what he had probably hoped to be a moment of tenderness.

“Most of the artillery are lined up. We’re still receiving arrow orders from the West, and some armour has yet to arrive. But if Brendol were to attack today, we’d be more than prepared.” Kylo nods, just a touch sagely. “The South wants this to be a decisive victory. No margin for error.” He looks down at Hux. “Whereas I can feel _you_ lusting after a little chaos.”

“Why on earth would I want chaos?” Hux scowls, the back of his neck prickling as he presses his hands together, for a brief moment.

Kylo just looks at him. “A chance to slip away and do what you _actually_ want to do?”

His tone is stern, but Hux only scoffs, shaking his head:

“What I want to do and what the king demands are two very different things, with two very different motivations. I’m not about to disobey my own king for petty revenge.” Hux takes a breath and pushes his fingers out towards the fire, watching as the freshest of the logs bursts into flames. “I want Brendol dead. But the king wants him in prison. I understand what needs to be done,”

He doesn’t see Kylo’s face, but he can tell he’s not entirely satisfied with his answer. If anything, he senses that taking him back to his old village had made Kylo think Hux could never change: if Kylo thinks about it, it will not be difficult to come to the conclusion that Hux has far too much reason to want to see Brendol’s head on a pike. He wouldn’t be wrong, but Hux doesn’t need him to think that.

“My duty is to the king first,” Hux says after a moment, and leans back to press his shoulder into Kylo’s arm, feeling the warmth of him even through their layers of clothing. “I will be content when I see Brendol in irons.”

Kylo sighs, and claps a hand down on Hux’s knee, rubbing it for a moment before getting back to his feet.“I need to oversee more preparations. Are you coming?”

Hux smiles and stands up, cold muscles protesting for just a moment. “Lead the way.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The preparations proceed as planned. Great, towering pines are felled and stripped of their branches, either for firewood or for great sharpened pikes to be arranged around the campsites, a deterrent to anything that would come too close. Hux watches it all, and more importantly, he watches Rey. She seems interested in what all the generals have to say, and regularly seeks Sloane out;. Hux sees her hanging around her one day, and for just a moment a wave of jealousy threatens to choke him there and then – until he sees Sloane tactfully retreat into her tent and stay there until Rey gives up and goes away. Sloane gives Hux a pointed stare when she finally emerges. It relieves Hux to no end, his strange jealousy fading as the army continues to swell and multiply along the edge of the forest, until Hux can see the gleaming torches of the troops for miles on end once dark falls. They’re close, and he has to act soon.

Kylo draws his mare up to Sloane’s side, pulling at the reins and looking out through the forest. Most of it has been cleared, save for the front few lines of trees, supposedly providing them cover for when the siege is underway. In a few weeks, Brendol will be hanging from the battlements. Kylo smiles, and looks across at Sloane, who looks quietly proud as she surveys the scene.

“You seem pleased,” Kylo hums, which almost causes Sloane’s face to revert back to her usual sneer, if she wasn’t so confident in it all.

“Armitage trained himself well. We covered the theory of battle for a while, but it wasn’t our main focus. And now he’s created something greater than I would have imagined.” She nods, squaring her shoulders. “Armitage might have been the bastard in this situation, but Brendol’s acted like it the most. After all he’s done to him, to us…” Sloane’s jaw tightens. “I’ll be glad to see it over with.”

Troops march beside them, and Sloane lets her eyes trail back out across the plain, with Kylo following her gaze as if he can see what she sees, what she’s imagining for the hours to come. “Where is he, anyway?”

Kylo pauses, looking at her. “He’s been down here since the attack. I thought he was simply overlooking the auxiliaries today?”

Sloane shakes her head. “No, I didn’t see him there. I expected him with you, given your sickening reunion on the palace steps. I’m glad I didn’t have to see _that_ , if I’m perfectly honest. I never thought him the type to be sentimental,”

Kylo doesn’t even scowl, but his brows do knit together. “He left after myself. He had a small group with him, the ignis Rey. I think he had some last minute strategies to discuss with her,” It had been strange, but Hux had his reasons. The elementals would be a key power to the attack, and given both of their natures, it made sense. Kylo hadn’t even batted an eye at it.

“He’s relying too heavily on a single source of power,” Sloane huffs. “Trying to deal a devastating first blow. It’s a useful tactic, if you can pull it off. He once asked me whether if the stars were fire, if he could harness them,” She snorts. “To use up a star in such a way…can you imagine it?”

Kylo looks around. “Was Rey’s Guardian present?”

Sloane pauses at that, seeming to note the confusion and worry in Kylo’s voice, before cutting her eyes across the arranged soldiers. “Finn? Last I heard…” She frowns, her eyes darting to Kylo.  “What’s going on, Ren?”

“I don’t know.” Kylo pulls at his reins, feeling his mare skitter underneath him. She knows something’s off, and he can feel it too. This close to the assault, and Hux goes missing? It almost seems too coincidental, too organized to be considered chance. It might be nothing. It might also be something. “Try and find the Guardian.” He pulls the mare off to the side, cantering off down the lines of troops. Sloane waits for just a moment before going in the other direction, cloak billowing out behind her as she rides.

In just an hour, they’ve examined the lines of troops, and returned, and Kylo is practically champing at his own bit when Sloane arrives.

“So?”

“I’ve not seen him.” Sloane pulls her horse up, and it’s apparent that she’s now nervous too, amber eyes burning as she sets them on Kylo.

“Ren. What’s going on? What’s gotten you so twisted up, and where is Hux?”

“I don’t know, I’ve got a feeling that…” Kylo turns his head with a start, hearing a great shout from across the plain, seeing flames begin to pool at the ramparts of the keep. There’s a pause, and a great ball of fire comes hurtling from the castle, catching the trees above them. Kylo’s mare rears and Sloane’s shies as flames engulf a pine from trunk to tip, before a handful of aqua race over with water streaming up over their hands and to the tree. Kylo yanks at the reins, turning his horse. “Sloane!”

She stares up at him, half illuminated by the tree, and for just a moment Kylo sees her as Hux saw her those years ago, dark skin lit by flames and a steely expression on her face.

“Begin the approach. Follow what Hux said. And _don’t_ lose,” Kylo digs his heels into his horse and flies through the trees, hearing the shouts of men and elementals as more fire rains down on them.

They’re too close to the cavern for it to be chance.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hux would never have thought he’d be nervous. Rey is powerful; he’s seen it firsthand. But he has the advantage of surprise. She barely even says anything until they’ve started down the path that leads away from the front line. She shifts in her saddle, and Hux hears her armour clink as chain slides against chain.

“Sir, aren’t we meant to be heading the other way? We’re in the first battalion.”

“We are. I simply don’t want the enemy scouts to have a chance at seeing us,” Hux demurs feeling his hands sweating in his gloves. “Are you worried for your Guardian?”

This seems to hit home., Rey smiles sheepishly, looking terribly young for such an experienced warrior. “I am. I know I have no reason to, but…I worry. I don’t know where I’d be without Finn,” She seems to relax, and looks over at Hux again. “But our Guardians are always hardier than we give them credit for, aren’t they? The number of stories I’ve heard about Kylo Ren…”

“Surely not as many as I’ve heard about Finn,” Hux counters, and Rey actually laughs, clearly pleased.

“Everyone thinks he’s special. Of course, he _is,_ but he does bear a striking resemblance to…” Rey shakes her head. “He says he can remember parts of the battle he fought. He was a traitor to Brendol’s kingdom, a man who believed elemental and mortal should live side by side. It’s” – Rey slows as they come to the deer path, where Hux pulls up his horse – “an old legend.”

Hux slides from the saddle, draping his reins over a nearby branch. Rey frowns down at him. “What’s going on?”

“I want to show you something, Rey.” Hux stretches, somewhat stiff from the long ride. “I think it may be…useful. The assault will begin soon, and I want you to think of it while we attack.” He waits, looking up at her as she purses her lips.

Rey purses her lips and says nothing: Hux wonders if he’s done and said too much. But then she slides from the saddle and comes to stand near him, peering down the deer path. “What’s down –”

Hux hasn’t got time – nor does he want – to fight her in a dark corner. His arm wraps around her throat and he _squeezes_ , gripping onto his own arm. Rey struggles, her breaths gurgling, her hands scrabbling. Even as her hands turn red hot, Hux only huffs, barely even reacting as she tries with all her might to scorch his skin.

“You don’t think I planned for that?” He snarls, pride rising in his chest. “An Aqua has far too much of an advantage against me. A Caeli could steal my breath, a Terra encase me in stone. But _you?”_ He tightens his grip. “You are exactly what I needed.”

“Rey?!”

Hux jolts, his head snapping to the source of the sound even as Rey goes limp in his arms, her dead weight pulling at him. He sees the warrior even before he darts to Rey’s horse and draws her sword from her saddle, levelling it at Hux.

“What have you done?”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kylo rides faster than he’s ever ridden. His mare’s sides heave with the effort, her hooves once or twice catching in the undergrowth until they’re on the mud path. There are new tracks, fresh and deep in the mud, and Kylo only rides harder. Trees catch at his hair and eyes, tearing along his cheeks like clawed fingers, and when he reaches the deer path his heart goes cold. There’s blood. Lots of blood. Signs of a fight, a tree with a deep gouge in its side.

“Hux?” Kylo calls out, his voice echoing. Despite the dripping of water from the trees and his own laboured breathing, it’s deathly silent. He can’t even hear the fighting from here. “Hux?!” Kylo swings himself down from the saddle, looking until he sees broken undergrowth, down the deer path. A scrap of material. He bends to collect it, but once he realises who it belongs to, Kylo’s striding down the path, gripping it in one hand. Sure enough, the entrance to the cave is streaked with blood, a filthy handprint on the side of the wall. It’s too big for Rey’s. Kylo spreads his fingers over it, an inch or two away, and descends into the darkness.

Kylo feels cold. For the first time in his life, he’s cold, and as he walks he feels himself begin to stagger. Something in his side _hurts_ , as if someone is pressing ice into his very flesh, and at one point he stumbles and trips. “Hux?” He calls, weakly, and his breath fogs up in front of him. He’s almost at the throne room, and as he gets closer, he hears voices. A pair of them, and then one. He lowers himself to the floor, and hears a soft clink of metal. Kylo tugs at his waist, and feels the square shape of a lantern. Fool. He should have left that on his horse. He pulls it from his belt and starts to set it down, just as his nose wrinkles, and he holds his fingers to his nose. Leaking oil again. Kylo pauses, and opens the lantern for just a moment, before leaving it where it won’t make further noise. He pulls himself closer, lying low in the entrance, and stares.

Hux has managed to drag himself down into the cavern. He’s so cold, the coldest he’s been in his entire life, and he feels his lifeblood pumping out of him onto the  stone floor. He pulls himself into the throne room almost on his hands and knees, and stares up at the throne. The creature is there. It’s as if he knew he’d be coming.

“Please.” Hux swallows, the pathetic humility of it all almost enough to make his cheeks burn in shame. He doesn’t _beg_. But right now, he has to. “Please. I need…what you can give me.” He coughs, and something wet splatters onto the floor. “All of it. I can’t make any more sacrifices.”

The creature regards him, coolly, and a thin smile spreads across its lips. “You’re desperate, General.”

For the first time, Hux watches as it rises from its throne, standing taller than he could have imagined. It moves towards him, and chills shiver down Hux’s spine. It’s – predatory, like a spider, and Hux tries to move himself back from it, feeling some primal fear. A ghostly white hand appears from the dark robes, and Hux barely has time to choke before its spindly fingers are wrapped around his throat, pulling him up from the floor. His feet dangle; Hux feels as though his head might simply detach from his body, and grips at the wrist with as much force as he can manage.

“You were a fool, General,” the creature rasps, its smile ugly and terrifying. “A fool who does not understand what he has been dealing with.” It grabs at Hux’s waist with its other hand, and Hux keens as fingers pierce through his clothes, one beginning to stroke along the fresh wound Finn had cut across his chest. A finger presses in and Hux makes a sound he doesn’t think he was capable of.

“A shame about Kylo Ren. If he wasn’t tied to you, I would have made use of him. A loyal servant.” It pushes its filthy nail deeper and Hux can only gasp as its grip tightens around his throat, black spots appearing in his vision. Everything burns: his lungs, desperate for breath; the new wound the creature insists on torturing further. Hux realises numbly that he may well die here in this dank cavern at this creature’s hand.

He scrabbles with said hand to try and loosen it from his throat, a choked-off gurgle emerging from his lips.

“I suppose you _are_ still human. Greedy, ambitious. Pathetic.” The creature tightens its grip, and Hux hears something make a sickening pop as he coughs again, blood splattering over his pale skin.

He can’t believe it when something barrels from the darkness and crashes into the creature. Hux falls, and feels his head crack on the stone floor as he sucks in air like a drowning swimmer. Something big, black and shaggy has thrown  itself at the creature, and Hux is surprised its spindly form can withstand the direct impact. It writhes like a spider stuck on its back and screeches, as the black shape is hurled  past the stone table. It skids, and Hux hears a sword being drawn from a scabbard, its blade glinting in the weak light coming from the walls.

“You will not touch him,” the shape snarls, and Hux stares: _Kylo_. He came for him.

The creature shrieks something unintelligible, and then Hux’s attention is diverted from it by a burst of light. Kylo’s sword is on fire. Hux can smell the oil, can see the remains of Kylo’s lamp shattered on the floor at the entrance, and he stares as Kylo’s face is illuminated, unearthly, by the flames. The creature is illuminated too, Iits face even more horrifying in the eerie, flickering light, and Hux stares with wide eyes. The great cleft in its skull is more pronounced than he had previously imagined, and Hux can only watch as its face seems to open further, jagged, unnatural teeth seeming to sprout from its jaws. It makes an unholy noise and skitters across the floor to Kylo, who  slices his flaming sword up through it in one clean motion.

The creature screams, pulling back as its robes catch light, filling the cave with a sight that would have made most men beg the gods for salvation. Kylo readies himself to attack again, but this time the creature is whip-fast, jabbing out at him with one large hand.

Nails catch flesh, and Hux rears up with a shout of his own as Kylo staggers for footing on the rocky floor. Hux stumbles to his feet, and his fingers pull for the dagger in his boot. It’s gone.

Hux curses, staring up at Kylo as the thing creeps forwards, lashing out with such speed Hux can hardly see it move. He sees the aftermath, though: Kylo being caught by and occasionally blocking the relentless attacks, his stance shifting as he goes on the defensive. He needs help. Hux pulls himself up to the altar, one hand pressing to the stone as he looks around for even a rock to hurl at the creature.

Something glints when Hux’s hand bumps into it and nudges it into the light.When he lowers his eyes to it Hux grits his teeth, running his fingers over the ornate, familiar handle.

There’s a great howl behind him, and Hux whips his head around just in time to see the creature slam its hand into Kylo’s side, with a sickening crunch that Hux wishes he had never heard. Kylo screams as he drops to one knee, the creature’s hand sinking deeper inside him. It’s looming over him now, and Hux feels his stomach churcn when he sees the creature pull its hand up towards Kylo’s ribcage.

“Useless Guardian after all,” it sneers as Kylo drops his sword, the clatter of it hitting the stone floor echoing around the cavern.“Powerful, yet weak against me.” It tilts its head a little, mocking. “No matter. Power is power , in the end.”

Hux can see Kylo’s face twist in horror as the creature’s jaw opens, opens, further and further –

 

A blade slices through the air and gets stuck at the creature’s spine. Hux curses, feeling the resistance of bone and sinew against the blade as the creature makes a horrific, wet, panicked sound. The knife wiggles, readjusts, and, with a crack, breaks the bone and cuts through muscle on the other side. The creature gurgles and coughs on its own blood, which splatters down, making Kylo choke, disgusted, as it rains over him. Hux watches the twitching creature go down, Kylo hissing as its hand sticks in his side. It takes effort, but he manages to pull it from his wound.

There is a silence, a stillness. Hux looks at Kylo.

“It’s dead. It’s done.”

Blood trickles down into Hux’s eye: he realises his head is bleeding. His side is bleeding too, and as he drops the blade and clutches at his torso, he almost staggers and falls. But Kylo is there, an arm behind his shoulders as they both sink down. Hux’s breathing is quick, but he feels oddly calm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, one bloodstained hand lifting to Kylo’s cheek. “You were right. I was wrong.”

“You were stupid,” Kylo says, and his voice catches. It pains Hux to hear, and his fingers move through Kylo’s hair. “So, so _stupid_. I trusted you, I thought you were done with it all. I told you not to –”

“I was blind, too. I didn’t need… _this._ I needed you.” Hux’s breath rattles out, and Kylo holds him closer. “Is this it?”

“I…” Kylo pauses.  A dreadful uncertainty hangs in the air. “I don’t know.”

“I have one last idea,” Hux murmurs, his thumb brushing Kylo’s cheekbone. “It might not work. But if I’ve guessed correctly…” He grunts as he sits up, Kylo’s hands clinging to him as he tries to stand, and falls.

“Hux, no, don’t.” Kylo sounds pained again. Hee grips at Hux. “Please, just…stay still.”

“Kylo.” Hux looks at him. “Get me to the throne.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Hux grits his teeth and starts to rise once again. “Get me to the throne. And put the knife into that beast’s heart.”

Kylo can stand, just about. His wound is bleeding sluggishly, but he can still move without much trouble. He seats Hux on the throne as asked, so carefully,, and Hux looks up at him, questioning, as Kylo pauses for just a moment. “You’re so pale,” he breathes, before shaking his head and dragging over the creature’s form as quickly as he can, the blade sinking into his chest without the slightest resistance.

They wait. Nothing happens. Hux can only sigh in defeat.

“I was wrong.” He sags, and Kylo is there, kneeling at his feet and taking his face in his hands.

“Hux.” Kylo holds him, and Hux smiles, the expression feeling alien on his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m not the only one in this.” He brushes Kylo’s chin with his thumb. “I’ve been so selfish.”

“Hux.” Kylo rises, his forehead pressing to Hux’s own. It’s cold. Kylo squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When he goes limp, Kylo crumples. His shoulders tuck in, his hands tug and pull at Hux, he hears his knuckles crack as he grips fiercely at his sodden robes. He’s so _cold_. He expects whatever has happened to Hux  will happen to him, too, soon. He can already feel the world growing dimmer, if that were even possible in such a dank, dark cave.

He can’t hear Hux breathing anymore. He can’t feel anything from him. Kylo he doesn’t open his eyes just yet: maybe, if he just sits, he can pretend Hux is merely sleeping, and in just a moment he will hear a soft breath as Hux stirs.

In that moment, there is no breath. But Kylo hears something quiet behind him, and after the dread had passed – the brief and horrifying thought that they have not killed the creature after all – , he lifts his head to look.

Something is moving in the darkness. Slowly, through the grooves in the stone, something dark and thick. At first, Kylo thinks it’s a snake. He recoils a little, only to see another stream forming on his left side. He tucks Hux closer, as if he can defend him from further horror, as the trails creep up to the dais, to the stone. They slide over the arms of the throne, and Kylo feels himself pulled back.

 _“Hux,”_ he snarls and tries to get back to him, watching as Hux’s arms flop to his sides. The black trails slide up his pale forearm and seem to burrow into his skin, seeping up through his veins. “Hux? Hux?” Kylo, desperate, tries to get closer, watching in horror as the black slides through him.

But: Hux’s bleeding stops. Disbelieving, Kylo sees how the black liquid stretches and expands over the open wound, briefly taking the shape of a scorch mark on Hux’s white skin before sliding away, down his stomach. Kylo sinks down to his knees, staring as the black liquid oozes like tar across the throne until its last trails disappear into Hux’s veins.

Hux gasps.

Kylo stares, eyes wide as he _feels_ new breath  in his own chest: a fluttering as Hux’s heart restarts, sinking into a rhythm that he knows. Hux lifts his head, and Kylo sees a glow emanating from him, brighter than he’s seen in years. Hux’s hair; his eyes; all of him is so vital that Kylo feels awful in comparison.

“I was right, it seems,” Hux murmurs, his gaze falling to Kylo. He lets out a long, long breath, fingers smoothing through Kylo’s hair as he comes to stand in front of him. He looks at him with troubled eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Kylo is quiet. For a moment, he wonders if he can. He might have Hux back – his apparent ‘death’ may not have been permanent, lasting  but a minute – but…Hux brought it upon himself _Upon the both of us._

“I’m still hurt, Hux,” Kylo says, his hand pressing to his side as if just recalling his own wounds. Now he has become aware of it, their pain throbs steadily through his whole body. “You said you were done. And then you…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know where we can go from here. Rey and Finn – they’ll be back at the encampment by now. They’ll have told everyone what you did.”

“I have a solution for that,” Hux hums, his head nodding over to the creature’s corpse. “If anyone was to find out, I was going to blame _that._ Charms, glamour, thrall. Then I would have brought the king its head and proclaimed myself cured. I would have gained... considerable power either way, but…”

He stops talking as he looks down at Kylo, who simply looks up at him with hurt in his gaze. Hux knows he is realising that he has been lied to.

“Why?” Kylo’s voice is quiet.

“You know why, Kylo.” Hux’s gaze hardens for a moment. “You know damn well why. Brendol took everything from me. I wanted to take everything from him.” He doesn’t move away, to his credit, even as his face twists and contorts.

Kylo leans up and takes Hux’s chin between his fingers, coaxing his face back towards him. “I’m your Guardian,” he says after a long moment of mapping over Hux’s face in silence. “I...I should have realised. What this meant. What it meant for everyone involved, not just you. If Brendol had had his way, we wouldn’t have been together. You would have been dead.” Kylo leans forwards, his forehead coming to press against Hux’s own, eyes falling shut. “During the assault, Sloane looked the way she did, that night she saved you. I felt your fear, your anger, that night. Your desperation to stay. I should have listened the first time you told me about it.” When his eyes reopen, he sees Hux’s gaze fixed on his, something hopeful glinting in his eyes. “He deserves death.”

Hux’s lips twitch upwards, and he leans in, his lips tasting of metal and dirt as Kylo presses back.

“We have our solution. But first, the siege.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Up close, the castle looks just how Hux had expected it to do so, after such a pummeling from the royal forces. Its previously dark, squat walls had been all but blasted to pieces by Igni and Terra alike. He’s expecting to be spotted and attacked the moment they take a step from the edge of the forest onto the great plain in front of them, but everything is quiet.

The silence doesn’t worry Hux.  He’s well aware of what has happened here today, without him. Without things going according to his own plan. That plan had not involved their horses fleeing, making it necessary for Hux, his strength returned,  to carry the wounded Kylo back from the cavern. Kylo’s bleeding has slowed, by now; Hux made use of his basic medical knowledge, stuffing the wound with moss collected from around the cavern and binding it with a section of his own cloak.

His clothes are bloodstained, and yet Hux himself is unscathed now, cleansed by the ritual. It’s Kylo he worries about. The large wound down his face has stopped bleeding, but it’s so red and raw that Hux can barely look at it. It must hurt terribly. Yet despite his intentions to leave Kylo to rest at the now-abandoned military camp, he has insisted on staying by his side, half-walking and half-dragging his feet as they make their way up to the once-impenetrable castle.

Hux isn’t expecting a warm welcome, but for a moment he thinks that he and Kylo have gone entirely unnoticed. The castle is full of activity: people bustling to and fro, people on stretchers, people sat on hunks of the wall, tending to their own wounds. A few lift their heads when Hux and Kylo pass, but no-one says anything at first. Hux lets Kylo rest for a moment, leaning against a section of the wall that wasn’t torn down by the Terras, until he hears feet pounding towards them. Hux turns, quickly, his body stiffening when he sees Rey, hair alight and eyes glinting as fire bursts from her hands.

“ _You_ ,” she snarls, and in a brief moment of clarity, Hux sees a bruise around her neck. It had been put there by him, he had no doubt of that. Rey’s fist comes at him, and automatically Hux lifts an arm to block it, the strength of her strike almost making him lose his footing in the mud.

“Stop –” Hux tries, only to be battered again, Rey’s other  hand moving a lot faster than the first, to strike him in the ribs. The air is shoved from his lungs and Hux wheezes, doubling over and receiving a knee to the face. Something makes a sickening crack, and now he stumbles back, grabbing at his nose and glaring over at Rey. “Stop, damn you, can you not see –”

Hux sees Finn, next, and is shocked that no-one has even attempted to intervene. But when Finn brandishes his greatsword, for a moment Hux wonders whether he has made a fatal error in judging the temperament of this Ignis and her guardian. But just as Finn goes to strike him, another sword swings up and catches him, the force of it enough to make him lose his footing. Kylo is up, and Hux wants to snarl at him to get back down: he is wounded, he is still bleeding, he is being a fool. Hux can handle himself.

“You tried to _kill_ her!” Finn moves with ease to lift the huge sword, even as Kylo’s hands twirl his own blade as if it weighed nothing, catching yet another strike. It’s this brief distraction that allows Hux to get in between Rey and Finn, arms outstretched.

“There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this, if you would just –”

“If you hurt Finn, I’ll sever your head from your shoulders,” Rey snarls, and it takes all of Hux’s effort not to scream at both of them. Flames flicker up about his own hands, ready to deal with the pair of them with force if they aren’t willing to listen to sense – until he hears more footsteps and the sound of steel sliding against steel as swords are drawn.

Hux turns, seeing royal colours and the glint of weapons pointed at himself and Kylo. There’s a lot of them, more than he could have accounted for in that moment, and it’s hardly a promising sight.

“So, you finally made it to the siege.” The voice is a welcome, familiar one. Hux lets out a quiet sigh of relief as Sloane appears, looking far more intrigued than upset.

“As we intended.” Hux lifts his hands, slowly, the flames blowing themselves out. Kylo takes one look at him before reluctantly lowering his sword, the tip sinking deep into the mud as he leans on the pommel. Hux gives him the briefest of glances, but knows Kylo can take it. After what Kylo has just done for him – while wounded, no less – he doubts there is a stronger Guardian in the realm.

Before Hux can even begin to explain the situation, the royal colours shift and part, and he stares as a figure emerges from the soldiers, surprisingly walking the same ground as them – for this man is the king. He’s even gone so far as to dress himself in his ceremonial armour. Hux can’t quite believe he’s here in the flesh, but...there he is.

“So the battle is won, and yet my troops cannot bear to keep the fire in their blood tamed even for a minute?” His eyes are cold as he stares them down. Hux knows that Rey isn’t even the least bit shaken by this: she believes herself to be in the right, of course. A glance to the side confirms that Finn, at least, looks the slightest bit sheepish at this development.

“My liege.” Hux speaks first, feeling Rey practically vibrating behind him and hurrying to get the first word out before she can. “Dark events have taken place this day. Ones that I can hardly explain, even given my heritage. There has been a foul presence in your kingdom.”

“You must be talking about yourself, General.” Rey pushes past him, turning her gaze to the king. “He tried to kill me, Your Majesty. Led me away into the woods. If it hadn’t been for Finn, I don’t know what would have happened; he managed to follow me, he...” Rey glances back at Hux. “He gutted you.”

“Shows how much you know,” Kylo mutters, off to the side, which earns him a twitch of the lips from Hux and a glare from Rey.

“Silence,” the king mutters, shaking his head. His hands go to his belted hips. “Ignis. You say the General tried to kill you. Yet here you are, and here he is, on our victory grounds. What do you say to that?”

Rey stands, her chin tilting up, hands balled into fists by her sides as she speak. “It is as I said, Your Majesty. Dark events and darker beings.”

Hux glances over at Kylo, who grunts as he reaches behind himself, pulling something from his back: they had needed an alibi, after all. A few withdraw from it, gasping in shock, as the misshapen head of the creature falls into the mud with a splat, its jaws extended and black blood dripping sluggishly into the ground.

Rey stares at the thing, and seems to share a knowing look with Finn before her irritated silence turns to something more contemplative, her hands loosening by her sides and her gaze turning more curious than angry.  

“This is the creature.” Hux waves his hand at it, and for just a moment, cannot help but enjoy the theatrics of it all. It’s the best proof they could ever ask for, and there is no evidence to countermand it. “My Guardian discovered the thrall it had over me, many months ago. It consumes the power of elementals, taking it for its own nefarious needs. Kylo...attempted to free me from it, but in my bewitched state, I would not heed him.

“The creature told me it needed other beings **–** Aqua, Terra, Caeli and Ignis alike – all to provide me with my own powers, to strengthen them. A fool’s errand, but one I pursued with blind devotion once the creature had gotten its hooks in me.” Hux shakes his head. “Kylo did not allow me to pursue such a notion, at first – but then he grew  busy with the preparations for the assault, which was fought so bravely here today.”

The crowd is all but spellbound, nodding and murmuring in agreement, and Hux bows his head just slightly, in a show of humbleness that he knows the king will appreciate. If Rey suspects any disingenuity, she mercifully says nothing. He can almost feel the l smile that Kylo is hiding.

“I take responsibility for my actions, Your Majesty. But I do so in both respects for allowing myself to be pulled into a thrall, _and_ for the final disposal of this foul being.” Hux kicks the head, and thoroughly enjoys the sound it makes. “I believe this deserves an iota of recognition. The rest of its body lies in a cave not far from here, if you would like to see it. Its capabilities truly would have been devastating for any local, any traveller...possibly even the city, had it been allowed to grow powerful enough.”

Hux’s eyes flick to Sloane, and he’s not at all surprised to see a steely expression on her face: she taught him to lie, after all. To weave a fabricated story around the bare bones of facts until it’s almost impossible to distinguish  one from the other And at this point, there are only two people with all the information, and one of them now prods at the head with his sword, a hand still pressing to his side.

“Did any of you have knowledge of this creature?” the king asks after a long moment, turning from Sloane to other generals, all shifting their feet in the mud. When there is no reply, he hums and turns his gaze back to the head on the ground, before nodding to himself. “General Hux, lead a patrol to this cave. I want the body of this... recovered,”

“I would, Your Highness, but...” The emotion that slips into Hux’s voice is not part of his theatrics. His hand slides into Kylo’s.  “I need to tend to my Guardian.”

 

TWO MONTHS LATER

 

The sheets of the medbay cots are truly horrific, Hux thinks as he’s pushed into them, his cheek catching ever so slightly against the fabric. He doesn’t  know how Kylo puts up with them; perhaps the residual pain from his injuries is what prevents him from really paying them any heed.

Kylo thrusts his hips forward, and Hux lets out a half-gasp, half-moan as he grips at said awful sheets, his hair falling forwards onto his forehead and his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, Kylo, _yes.”_

“Thought that would stop you thinking,” he hears Kylo mutter, grabbing at his hips with enough strength to bruise. His wound has gotten so much better: he can grip and pull and toss Hux around as he wishes again, and by the stars, has Hux  missed it dearly. He pants into the bed and feels his hot, warm breath  on his own face, even as Kylo arches over his back and breathes into his neck, his forehead coming to press at his shoulders.

“Fuck, Hux…”

“Come, Kylo,” Hux huffs, tilting his head and catching Kylo’s hair, tugging just enough to feel rather than hear Kylo moan, a drawn-out thing that sounds like the sweetest death possible.“Come, please, come inside me.”

Their mouths in a clumsy smash of teeth and tongues, and Hux feels Kylo shudder inside of him and bow his head, his body shaking with the effort of staying upright. Hux thinks he’ll fall into the mattress there and then, until he feels one large hand slide from his hip and take his cock in hand, squeezing tightly. Hux groans and grinds his hips back, even as Kylo softens inside him

“Your turn,” Kylo murmurs as he noses at Hux’s neck, fingers lifting and pinching at one pert nipple, rolling it about as he smiles into his skin. With Kylo’s other hand on his cock it doesn’t take long for Hux to gasp and empty himself onto the dreadful sheets, his flushed cheeks pressing into the pillow as he sinks down, the strength gone from his body.

Kylo collapses with less grace, and Hux can’t help but let out a complaint as he lands on top of him, his chest feeling for a moment as if it’s going to cave in. “Watch it,” he mutters, moving to the side and feeling Kylo’s release slide down the inside of his thigh. _How wonderful._ Hux plucks at the sheets until they come untucked from the bed and uses them to clean himself, as Kylo insinuates himself closer and smudges kisses up his collarbones, his throat, nipping over the purple bruise that now resides at the base of Hux’s neck. Hux doesn’t even need to see it to know it’s there; he can feel it, gently pulsing away with his heart.

“You need to hurry up and heal,” Hux says after a few moments of catching their breath. “I’m sick of having to come here and deal with this bed.”

“It’s not too bad,” Kylo answers s, stroking the hair back from Hux’s forehead. “We’ve slept in worse places.”

“And now I have a higher standard of living. I like _my_ quarters.” Hux rolls his eyes, but stays in their humid embrace, his eyes  drooping shut after a few minutes. It’s comfortable, as long as Kylo is present. Hux had a brief stay in the hospital himself, when Rey first broken his nose, the shape of which he has retained. Hux claimed he wasn’t bothered by it, but in reality he was miffed to see that his features were marred by it. Naturally, Kylo has no inclination of agreeing with that.

Hux lets out a long sigh and presses his face into Kylo’s chest, feeling the other shift and adjust his arms around him.

“What are you thinking about?” Kylo murmurs.

“My nose.” It’s not quite a lamentation, but it gets a laugh out of Kylo all the same.

“Oh yes, your poor, poor nose. The nose in which I can barely see a difference. Might I remind you of who has the devilish scar in this relationship?”

Kylo smiles as Hux lifts his face, and regards the scar for the thousandth time. It’s not bad. It _is_ quite devilish, and Hux would even go as far to say that it gives a roguish charm to Kylo’s face. But it is…big. And still angry-looking, slashed red from eyebrow to chin; Kylo was lucky not to lose an eye. Hux lifts his head to press his lips to the base of the scar, where the skin is now slightly warmer than the rest of him.

“It does nothing to your beauty” Hux hums, kissing it again. “Not to mention, you look infinitely more intimidating. Which could be quite useful, if we ever end up being used by the king again.”

Kylo sighs and tilts his head towards Hux’s  for just a moment, before leaning back and propping himself up on some pillows. “I’d gathered that the council had gone well enough when you barged in here.” He pushes his hand through his hair to moves it off of  his face. “Did the court deny your audience with Brendol again?”

“Eighth time. And this time they talked about my request for precisely thirty seconds before dismissing it. A new record.” Hux rolls his eyes as he leans into Kylo, eventually lifting his gaze to him. “The creature’s body was proof enough of my innocence, but most of them have been waiting for concrete justification of their mistrust of me for years. Apparently Brendol was never fond of Sloane either, but he can’t ignore diligence. She calls it the only reason she has the position she has. Now…I foresee stagnation in the future of my military career.,”

Hux toys with the section of the sheet he had so callously pulled from the bed earlier, before letting it fall and shaking his head. “We did our parts. I simply need to keep trying. Eventually he will see reason, and I will be able to see him and explain.”

Hux’s eyes narrow when he hears a cough from outside their enclosed bed, tilting his head a little before glancing at Kylo. He shrugs quizzically, and Hux has enough sense to yank the sheet back up again as Kylo parts the curtains, his eyebrows quirking lazily at the person standing by the bed.

“Ah, Mitaka,” Hux says after an irritatingly long pause, as the attendant lifts his gaze up and away, staring into the middle distance instead of at what was lying so brazenly between Kylo’s legs.

“General Hux,” the young man almost chokes, and Hux has to give him credit for lasting this long without letting his gaze or his courage falter. “I – The king requests an audience at your earliest convenience.”

“Does he, now?” Hux hums, raising both brows and looking at Kylo. “How interesting.” He adjusts the sheet for a moment, for dignity’s sake, before nodding. “Very well. If you wouldn’t mind giving us a moment, Mitaka.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” The words are barely out of Mitaka’s mouth before he’s turning to face the other direction: Hux wouldn’t be surprised if he’s clapped a hand over his eyes, too.

Kylo grins and tugs at Hux’s sheet, one hand passing over his thighs. It gets a rap on the knuckles from Hux, and he shakes his head as he pulls on his discarded clothing, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt while Kylo watches with a smile still on his lips. “Incorrigible,” Hux murmurs, at which Kylo only beams, dropping the clean part of sheet back around himself.

“My dignity is covered, attendant. If you must whisk my Ignis away, you may do so now,” he says slyly.

Mitaka still doesn’t look at Kylo, but to his credit he does turn around, and seems immensely relieved that Hux is now clothed and no longer in an intimate position.

“Of course, sir. Follow me.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

The royal chambers are far too luxurious, even for Hux’s tastes. There are fine silks and ancient tapestries lining the walls, a fountain that was ever-flowing with fresh water, petals scattered liberally around the whole place. It reeks of roses, their cloying perfume clinging long after leaving the chambers even if you have only stayed a few minutes. The view is rather spectacular, Hux has to admit. The windows show the towering cliffs and the rolling seas of the coast, along with a picturesque glimpse of the mercantile district. Of course, the poorer districts were hidden away by some rather large marble pillars off to the side, but no-one really cared too much about that.

Hux gets to enjoy the vista for a few minutes, until he hears footsteps behind him. The king is adorned as finely as the room, if not more so, and Hux takes a moment to bow his head and accept the ringed hand that is presented to him. One day, that deference will be shown to Hux himself; . he knows it. It’s just a matter of pleasing the king while he is still sound of mind enough to remember it.

“General,” the king greets him, stepping past him and to the balcony, pressing his hand to the stone balustrade and gazing out across the city.

“My king.” There’s a bitterness in Hux’s tone that  he can’t hide, but it only seems to amuse the king:

“I see you’re still trying to see your father.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” Hux makes a face, safely unseen behind the king’s back. “Consider it closure. A means for me to move on from that part of my life, and better serve the crown.”

“Did my royal herald give that speech to you?” The king glances back at Hux for a moment. “It was terribly scripted. Not to mention all the other reasons you might have for wanting to visit him.”

Hux meets the king’s gaze steadily, even as he clenches one hand into a fist behind his back. “Would it help if I mentioned that I am still as furious with this whole situation as I was before the siege?”

“No. Not at all.” The king looks back out across the city. Hux grinds his teeth and narrows his eyes, frustration all but pouring from him. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to be denied access to his own father, especially not when he needs to do whatever it is he needs to do.

“Family relations are always  complicated, General,” the king says at last, waving a hand. “Complex. Multi-faceted, layered in ways I doubt will ever be fully understood. Many people  cannot choose their families.” He lets his hand fall again, rings clinking on the marble. “I think of my court as a family.”

“Do you, now?” Hux says, a bite in his voice. Behind the king’s back, he rolls his eyes:the man has no children, no heirs, although he’s old enough to have plenty; here he is, acting as though he had all the time in the world.

“Yes, I do.” The king turns to Hux, smiling sagely,, and Hux wants to tear his throat out. “You have Rae. She brought you into my family. I don’t thank her enough for it.” He comes closer, and Hux has to steel himself not to recoil from the hand that comes to rest on his shoulder. “Igni are full of fire, full of rage – and none more than you, Hux. You have good reason, but why let it fester inside of you?” He squeezes Hux’s shoulder. “I want you as my Praetor, Hux. Your abilities with the siege, despite your reservations, cannot be denied. It was a great thing you did, for your king and your people.”

Hux stares. This announcement is completely unexpected; it’s…bizarre, even. He cannot possibly understand it. Why give a title such as Praetor – the highest in the land **–**  to him, of all people?

But the surprise only lasts a moment, and then Hux knows precisely what to say. “It would be an honour, my king,” he says, taking the monarch’s pleased smile  to indicate that his reaction was suitable. “I…cannot understand why I have been chosen for such a position, in truth. But I trust you and your judgement, of course.” Hux lowers his head a little, the cogs already turning in his mind.

“Long live my Praetor, Armitage Hux, the first of his name.” The king smiles, and Hux lets an answering one spread across  his own face.“As a show of my trust, you may also have your meeting with your father.” The king moves aside side to go past Hux, who quickly lifts his head. “He is due to be moved to a different location, and soon. There have been far too many infiltrations of the castle already; one invader almost managed to get into his cell before the guards arrived.” The king shakes his head: “I won’t have the reputation of this nation tarnished by the actions of a foolish few.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Hux intones, falling into step behind him. “I may go within the week?”

“Within the day, my boy. The guards expect you.”

“Thank you, Majesty.” Hux smiles, and leaves without another word.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s dark when Hux leads Kylo down the twisting staircase into the dungeons,  losing the scents of incense and fresh sea air to those of damp and moss. Hux is surprised that such a structure has not already given way and let the  whole palace collapse, the rotten base unable to support the weight of  the rose-scented upper floors, made of solid marble. But when he sees the thickness of the pillars that support the whole structure, he understands: they look like they could withstand the weight of a whole other palace for at least a century more.

They walk through the corridors where prisoners are held. Each cell has an outward-facing window about the size of a plate, and it amuses Hux to see a few prisoners with their faces pressed to the glass, hungrily taking in what little taste of freedom they have left.

But the amusement fades when he comes face-to-face with Brendol’s cell. It’s leagues better than what others have, with decorated pillows and even a plate of fine foods, breads and grapes and cheeses next to a small stack of books. It’s well-lit, and as he approaches he can see that Brendol isn’t even shackled to the floor, as many other inmates are. He’s standing, perusing the view from his small window. Hux feels Kylo stiffen behind him, and he imagines for a brief moment that if Kylo were a hound, he would be growling by now.

Hux clears his throat. “You seem right at home.”

Brendol turns at the sound. A sickly smile spreads over his face, and Hux’s rage boils deep in his stomach.“Smaller lodgings than I would have expected,” Brendol retorts smoothly. “But the king certainly knows how to treat his guests.” Hux’s skin crawls at the sound of his voice: it’s far too similar to his own, the intonation and accent horribly familiar. “I wouldn’t say no to a little more of a view, of course. Or perhaps some more food.”

Hux raises his eyebrows. “Not that you need any more of that.”

Brendol laughs, loudly and obnoxiously, as he sits heavily down on his decorated bed and rests an elbow on his knee. “Sounds like sour grapes from over here, boy. I’ve been told all about your little plot: a very good start, but you failed at the last hurdle.” He shakes his head. “Pathetic, really. All the time you had to do so and you couldn’t even kill me,” He runs his tongue around his mouth. “You weren’t even there. I’m not surprised. That whore Sloane knew you didn’t have the guts, and put you in the reserves.”

“You think she organised the assault?” Hux feels Kylo’s hand press to the small of his back, and lifts his chin with haughty pride. “Then your circle of spies clearly know nothing.”

“Your handiwork, then?” Brendol shrugs. “No matter. All your plans failed, but for the siege. And look where I am now.” He waves one fat hand at his surroundings. “In relative comfort. Soon to be taken to a place far away from here to live out the rest of my days. What do you get, bastard? A ceremonial role in a kingdom that is not your own, where you will be nothing more than a boy playing with toy soldiers.” Brendol laughs harshly and fixes Hux with a look, before letting it slide over to Kylo. “Ah, the loyal dog you call a Guardian. Whole lot of superstitious nonsense. Were you too afraid to tell the courts that you wanted to have access to your whore at all times?”

Kylo stiffens, but Hux is silent, merely observing Brendol as he rants before pulling his hand where it has remained behind his back, brandishing a bottle. “Shame. I did so hope we could go about this civilly.” He hums, tilting his head a little. “Shall we try now, with the aid of this? It’s from the king’s personal store. An excellent vintage.”

Brendol eyes the bottle for a moment, clearly suspicious. “Only the king had the keys to his private reserve.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Hux pulls a blade from his pocket and nicks the top, pulling the cork out with one smooth motion. Brendol shakes his head:

“A bastard, and a thief as well.”

“It comes with the territory, it seems.” Hux inclines his head, and Brendol’s gaze goes to the two empty cups on his small table. He huffs and lifts his bulk to retrieve them. When both cups are thrust through the bars of the cell, Hux pours until they’re both full. He half-expects Brendol to snatch both glasses back when Hux hands one of them to him. Lifting it to his nose, Brendol inhales deeply, and grins.. “Not bad, bastard. Not bad at all. A good few decades old, I’d say.”

“Three,” Hux affirms, swirling the drink in his glass. “As old as myself.”

“And think how much more it’s accomplished in that time.” Brendol snorts and lifts the cup with a smug look on his face. “To you, bastard. You couldn’t even beat me in a fair fight.” He tips the cup back. As he does, Hux lowers his own, and watches.

Brendol stares at him once he’s drained the cup, looking down at his hands. “What are you doing? Too strong for you?” he scoffs– only for his brow to furrow. One hand lifts instinctively to his throat, and Brendol makes a croaking sound, his cup clattering to the floor.

“It’s interesting, really.” Hux holds the stem of his own cup far away from him, pouring the wine onto the ground. Brendol gasps desperately for breath both hands now clutching at his throat. “All your _successes._ All your _triumphs._. What did you ever truly achieve, Father?”

He tilts his head as Brendol sways forward, staggering on his feet. He reaches out through the bars of the cell to grab Brendol by the front of his shirt. “You fucked an Igni scullery maid, knowing damn well what she was and what might come of it. And when something _did_ come of it, you did nothing. All you had to do was leave well enough alone.”

Brendol makes a horrid gurgling sound, clutching at himself as if trying to keep himself together. Hux continues, cold and calm:

“But, of course, you couldn’t. It wasn’t as if your many _other_ wives were capable of producing an heir. If I was superstitious, I’d call that a curse. I’d call _myself_ a curse.” Hux holds tight onto Brendol even as his weight becomes almost too much to bear His eyes are beginning to turn red as bloody tears form at the corners. “I’ve learned something, about bastards.” Hux brings him closer for just a moment, teeth bared in righteous fury.“We don’t fight _fair_.”

Hux lets go, and Brendol sags forwards onto the bars, his disgusting face warping even further as he coughs and chokes, convulsing until his body finally goes limp. At long last, it’s over.

Hux steps back and finds that he’s breathing heavily. Kylo’s hand comes to his back once more, his fingers to his wrist.

“Hux?” It’s quiet, but by no means meek.

“I almost wish I hadn’t done that to the wine.” Hux turns his head to look at Kylo, his face flushed and his eyes gleaming. “It was an absolute waste.”

Kylo’s surprise makes the kiss all the sweeter as Hux pushes himself forwards, hands tugging at Kylo’s robes. There’s a moan, and Hux is swept up by Kylo, aware of his centre of gravity moving as he’s dipped. Kylo reverently caresses the small of his back; Hux bites at his lip, and Kylo groans again.

“We won’t be able to come back,” he breathes, when he finally pulls Hux back up. They’re both panting. Hux presses his forehead close to Kylo’s face.

“Praetor,” Hux huffs, and shakes his head. “He thinks himself important. Giving me a title as if it’ll satiate me,” He pulls Kylo back again, but this time when they part, it is with purpose. “No. I want more than that.” Hux tips his head up, and his fingers smooth through Kylo’s hair. “But to get it, we’ll need to leave soon. Now.”

“I can have horses ready within the hour,” Kylo murmurs, and Hux grins:

“Good. We’re going to need them.” He slides his hands down across Kylo’s chest, and for just a moment he pauses, and looking at the other for a moment. “Are you sure? You’ll be running with a traitor to the crown. If we’re captured, we’ll both…” He looks at Kylo’s face, as if searching for something, for the hint of hesitation that means Kylo will be better off staying in the city.

Instead of a verbal answer, Kylo kisses him again. It’s just as passionate, but with the faintest hint of something soft and oh-so tender.

Hux sighs into the kiss, and closes his eyes.

He needn’t have worried at all.


End file.
